


Two of a Kind

by Svartalfhild



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demons (Nontraditional), F/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svartalfhild/pseuds/Svartalfhild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly is one of the few who remembers and practices the Old Ways, yet she must hide it and she is so alone and so afraid that someone will find out what she is. She wishes for a knight in shining armor. What she gets is a dark knight with a massive ego and a secret of his own that changes her whole world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Knight

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of my fics to be available on AO3 as well as FF.net. It will included illustrations, one for each chapter (as soon as I figure out a way to do this that I find agreeable).

The first beams of Spring sunlight spilled over the tops of the trees as a young brunette woman arrived in a small town. The people had just begun to stir and the merchants were quietly setting up shop in the marketplace. The townsfolk were quick risers, for by the time the woman had reached the square, they were up and bustling with preparations for the day. Delicious smells wafted from the bakery down the road. She looked up as a tavern window overlooking the street opened and an old woman leaned out.

"Good morning, Molly dear!" she greeted with a warm smile.

"Good morning!" Molly returned cheerily with a wave. Several other townspeople greeted her with a similar friendliness as she headed for her apothecary.

"Molly!" the baker called as she passed. "Could you hold some of those lovely tea leaves for me? I can't come by and get any until this evening." She gave him a smile and a nod before unlocking the door of the apothecary. Stepping into the building, she began her routine of opening up her business for the day. She was the town healer, but she lived in the forest for her own reasons, which she did not like to discuss with others. People thought all she did was work with special plants to treat ailments, but she was so much more. She, like the rest of her long dead family, was gifted in the healing techniques of the Old Ways. That is to say, she used medicinal magic. It was something she tried to keep a secret due to the Old Ways being far from popular in recent years. Villagers would tell their children that if they did not behave, a sorcerer would come from deep in the forest and snatch them away. Once, Molly had heard rumors that there were people called wizards, who were like sorcerers, but never used their magic to do bad things. Most people said these were myths and all people who knew that much magic were selfish, evil beings.

Molly didn't let that hinder her daydreams about wizards as she pulled the curtains open on the little windows of her apothecary and began arranging the jars on her shelves. Often, she fantasized about a handsome wizard coming and taking her away to a place where she did not have to constantly fear of being burned for using magic. They would have beautiful magical babies and live happily to the end of their days. She was too caught up in her thoughts to notice the tall, black cloaked figure walking through the front door. When she did see him, she gasped and nearly jumped.

"H-Hello! How may I, um, help you?" Molly managed to say. The man reached up and lowered his hood to reveal the most beautiful face she had seen in her entire life. This man had luscious raven curls atop his head that seemed even darker against his alabaster skin. His sharp cheekbones and full lips made her blush just looking at them and his eyes were a pair of silvery blue orbs that screamed of an enigmatic intelligence. This thorough analysis and more flashed through Molly's mind and culminated in one coherent thought: she would have this man's children if he asked.

"I require a few items that I hear you possess," he said and the moment the words left his mouth, sounding as smooth and rich as butter, Molly knew she was smitten. Not only was he physically attractive, but despite being a first time customer, he had not asked her where her husband was. He knew she was the healer and seemed totally unfazed by it.

"R-Right, erm...and those are?" She fumbled over her words and mentally reprimanded herself for making herself look like an idiot.

"Belladonna and henbane or hemlock. Either will do." the man replied unabashedly. Molly stared at him in disbelief, instantly regaining her composure out of annoyance. What kind of man asked to buy those from a healer?

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any of those. This is an apothecary, not the black market." she said indignantly, feeling a little offended.

"Lying to me is not going to get you anywhere." Molly gasped at this and her eyes grew wide as the man came much closer to her, making it clear just how tall he was. He quirked an eyebrow as he looked down at her in slight amusement. The healer found herself reverting back to her flustered state from before.

"I-I-I just...I don't...those are very dangerous...and...I don't...I won't sell them." For a moment, the man just looked down at her, as if he was thinking thoroughly about his response. She took the time to try and quash her nerves.

"Molly, I think you misunderstand my intentions."

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" she demanded, although it came out less forceful, more frightened.

"I am Sir Sherlock. I can see by your vacant expression that you were not informed of my presence here. The king sent me." There was no hint of reverence in the way he said 'king'. "I asked the innkeeper about the local apothecary last evening when I arrived. She said and I quote 'Oh, it's run but Molly down the road. Lovely young woman, that one. Kind. She'll get you anything you need.' You wouldn't want her to be wrong now, would you?" It didn't take long for this man to switch back from cold to charming when he saw the shocked and terrified look on her face. She clearly had thought he was one of those nobles who was caught up in a petty power struggle and was looking to poison the opposition. He fought the urge to scoff and roll his eyes. "I am not an assassin."

"What would a knight want with herbs, then?"

"Curiosity." This caught the young woman by surprise. "I assure you my intentions are entirely scholarly." It took a moment for Molly to find words with which to reply, blushing madly when she finally did.

"I-I've never met anyone else like that before." This brought a smirk to Sherlock's face and a low rumble of laughter escaped him. It had Molly's heart racing.

"Very few people have. I see you fancy yourself a scholar as well." His gaze swept the room, taking in every jar, pot, bag, and tool. "A bit risky for a young female healer, don't you think? People might start thinking your a-" Panic erupted in Molly's mind and she interrupted the knight before he could say another word.

"I-I just want to know e-everything I can t-to help people!" she blurted out. The knowing look Sherlock was giving her was terrifying. What if he could tell she was of the Old Ways? He could already understand a lot about her just by looking around. How much did he know but wasn't saying? Suddenly, Molly felt naked under his hawk-like blue gaze. "I'll...I'll just go and get those things you wanted!" With that, she scurried into the back room, closing the door behind her and taking a moment to calm herself. A few deep breaths later, she took some cloth and string and made three little bags with the herbs Sherlock had requested (she couldn't decide whether to give him henbane or hemlock as she had both). Once she was done, she turned around to see the man's lanky, dark form observing her from the doorway. She opened her mouth to scream in fright, but he was over to her in less than a second to cover her mouth with his black gloved hand.

"Don't. It's irritating and I would rather not have to deal with inquisitive townsfolk." Sherlock warned before stepping away from her.

"Well, if you hadn't been creeping in the doorway, there wouldn't have been cause for alarm. You're not supposed to be in here anyway." Molly hissed and then promptly turned bright red upon realizing what she'd just said, and to a nobleman no less. "I am so sorry! I just...I..." The woman apologized profusely, but Sherlock did not seem at all offended. If anything, he was intrigued and even a little amused.

"Stop apologizing. It's more demeaning than what you're apologizing for." This left the healer speechless. Taking the three small bags from her hands, Sherlock reached into his cloak and drew out a moderately sized coin purse and dropped it into her palm. It was heavy with gold and Molly gaped. It was far beyond what she had been prepared to ask for the dangerous plants. Why would he do this? He clearly wasn't a kind and charitable person. Was it a bribe? For what? Whatever reason he had, she simply couldn't take the extra money.

"Sir, this is much more than those herbs are worth. I can't accept-"

"It's an investment." Sherlock drawled before she could get all her words out. Without an explanation or even so much as a goodbye, he strode out of the apothecary and Molly watched as he mounted his black horse and trotted off down the street. She gazed at his retreating form with the expression of a teenaged girl who'd just seen a prince pass by. He was the most unique man she had ever met and there was something about him that made her trust him. Sure, he was rude. Sure, he might know what she was, but he was oh so intelligent and oh so handsome. She heard a sigh and only after a moment did she realize it had come from her. Quickly, she went back inside the building, hoping that no one had seen that display.

It would not be the last time Molly would see Sir Sherlock. In fact, it was the first of many to come, though she did not know it yet.

* * *

Each time the rude knight would come to see Molly, he would always request unusual things and they were more often than not very potent and potentially lethal. She always did as he asked. Whenever he was in a good mood, he paid her too much (despite her protests). She'd been able to buy herself a new set of tools. Sherlock once told her that she should have spent some of her extra money on a new dress, but then later inadvertently made up for it by commending her for finally replacing her tools. After each one of his visits, Molly fell more and more in love with him and found herself looking forward to seeing him, even though he practically treated her like his servant.

By the time spring had passed into summer, Sherlock had begun sharing with her details of what he did in the area. This was the last little town before the main road went into the mountains, on the other side of which lay the capital city and the royal palace. It was apparently Sir Sherlock's job to make sure nothing threatening passed through and he dealt with things like murder and theft in the town. People felt more comfortable being out after dark when they knew the knight was about (though many people weren't fond of him- he was rude to  _everyone_ ). Killers and thieves feared him and that made the healer love him even more.

One particularly dark night, after Molly had spent all day in town, caring for those who had fallen ill due to the latest sickness passing through, she stepped out of a family's house and into the darkness. No moon illuminated the sky and she took a deep breath, hoping that no one sketchy was prowling around the paths she usually took back to her home in the forest. As she pulled up the hood of her white cloak (well, it was more grey now due to wear and tear), she heard the clip-clop of hooves and turned to see Sherlock emerge from the shadows astride his horse. He wore an expression of agitation as he looked down at her.

"Tonight is a particularly bad night to be out late, Molly. You toil over the sick and wounded far too much for your own good. You should have gone home by now, foolish woman." he scolded and she frowned. Why was it so bad that she put others above herself?

"What's out there tonight that I should be more frightened of than usual?" she asked.

"I've received word that a group of bandits has been making its way south and will pass through here tonight. I was planning on tracking them down." He paused to dismount. "So unless you fancy a traumatizing experience or death, I suggest you come with me." He gestured towards his steed and she gaped. "Come on. Up you get. I do not have all night to do this." he added impatiently. Molly quickly hoisted herself up onto the dark creature. Sherlock took its reins in one hand and began guiding it down the road towards the forest. His other hand rested on the hilt off his sword. Molly made no attempt at small talk. The knight detested that sort of thing and they both knew it was really not something she was good at anyway. Besides, it was probably for the better that they stayed as quiet as possible. Soon, they were out of town and passing into the forest. They went off the road and Molly was nearly whacked by low branches a couple of times. Not far for her home, they stopped and she could make out Sherlock glancing around. She was about to ask him what was wrong, but then he called out into the night. "I know you're there. You can't deceive me. Leave this place and I might spare your lives." Now the healer could see other figures moving in the dark between the trees. Sudden fear gripped her and she had to stop herself from letting out a whimper. She felt a warm hand grab her own and carefully pull her down from the horse. It helped stave off some of her panic to know it was Sherlock standing so near to her. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. "Take off your cloak and use that dagger I know you have stowed in your boot. Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand. If you do, I won't be able to protect you, do you understand?"

"Yes." Molly replied with barely a sound, still blushing despite the situation (it was the only reason she was glad for the darkness). She did as he instructed and he drew his sword.

"This is your last chance. Leave. I shall not warn you again." the knight called and they heard laughter from the approaching figures.

"What chance have you, one against eight?" a gruff voice called back and Molly tightened her grip on Sherlock's hand.

"Don't discount the woman. It's two against eight and I find those odds more than favorable." Sherlock sneered. The woman beside him was terrified, however. What was he playing at? Two against eight? They were going to die for sure! He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as if to say 'calm down, you silly girl, everything will be fine'. Then there came the sounds of blades clashing together and Molly's heart started racing even more than it already was. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a bandit move to slash at her and without even thinking, she stepped out of the way. Everything started happening so fast and she could barely see, but she somehow managed to dodge every attack. Her main concern was keeping hold of Sherlock's hand. She could smell blood and hear cries of agony, and then it was all over. The forest was silent again but for the sound of her heavy breathing and pounding heart. "You can let go now." Molly let go and immediately missed the warmth and comfort it had given her. Sherlock sheathed his sword and handed her her cloak back. "Get back on my horse and go ahead. I'll catch up in the moment, I just need to deal with the bodies here." Despite the uneasiness these words brought her, Molly shakily did as she was told.

* * *

Molly never expected to have a knight sitting at her table, but here she was, making tea for one in her home. She needed something to steady her nerves after what she'd just been through in the forest and Sir Sherlock didn't seem to mind sticking around for a cuppa.

"Thank you for taking me home. I don't want to think about what would have happened to me if I'd run into those men alone." she told him, beaming at him as she handed him a cup of tea. He took a sip, quirked an eyebrow, and replied.

"I could hardly let something happen to that town's greatest asset, now could I?"

"I-I'm their greatest asset?!" Molly sputtered, eyes wide, cheeks red. Why was Sir Sherlock being so kind and flattering today? Did he want something from her? She'd learned he only said nice things to manipulate her, but what could he possibly want?

"Obviously. Not only are you a skilled healer, in fact the most competent healer I've come into contact with, but just now you proved that you are able keep your head in an incredibly dangerous situation. You listened to me. You passed the first part of the test." Ah, there it was, the dent in the armor. This was some sort of test.

"Test? Test for what?" Sherlock said nothing in response and only grinned. Deciding it was best not to pry and just wait for the moment when he'd reveal what he meant, Molly sipped her tea. No need to spoil this man's good mood (though how he could be so delighted after what had just happened to them was beyond her) as she thoroughly enjoyed that charming smile of his. In fact, it was almost as if she lived for it these days. When had he become the center piece of her life? "Thank you again for saving me. If you...if you want...you can rest here till morning." she spoke up after a while of watching him sitting in his chair with his hands together under his chin.

"Hm, stay in this sad excuse for a house?" And there went Sir Charming and in came Sir Tactless. Oh, well, Molly had been around this man long enough to know she couldn't have one without the other, and he was right (as always). Her home was small, poorly built, and a bit of an eye sore. Nothing like what she was sure a nobleman was used to. "However, I don't feel like moving at the moment and you did just prove yourself somewhat worthy of my time, so I shall take you up on your offer." That was a little better. It was backhanded, but it was something.

Molly fell asleep thinking about how a knight was sitting ten feet from her bed, a knight with whom she had a hopeless infatuation. She knew it was pointless. Nobles didn't marry peasants and besides that, he didn't strike her as the romantic type. Still, she hoped and dreamed. She got to wondering why he seemed to drop so many hints that he knew that she was of the Old Ways and yet never made any indication that he would reveal it to anyone. She wanted it to be because he secretly genuinely liked her, but she knew it was because without her, he would have to go elsewhere for the things she provided and that would make his research more difficult than he liked. She was a tool to him and nothing more.

When she woke in the morning, he was gone, though there was a piece of parchment on the table that read in the ancient script of her people, 'I find it very interesting that you can read. I find it even more interesting that you can read this in particular.' Below the words was a blue magic seal that glowed at her touch. The parchment suddenly caught fire and burned to ashes in seconds. Molly's heart thundered away in her chest as she came to understand in that moment what Sir Sherlock was and what that meant for her. 


	2. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains use of medieval drugs.

Somehow, Molly knew he would be there when she arrived at her apothecary that morning. She tried to stay calm as she felt his piercing blue gaze follow her. He wore a grin. The same grin from the night before when she'd asked about his test. It was as if she was some fascinating new area of study that was yielding everything he wanted to know.

"Molly, I've got a rather nasty cut on my palm. Would you mind mending it for me?" he spoke, still grinning, but she was determined not to give him total satisfaction. She would not allow herself to be teased by him like this, so she got a strip of cloth and moved to wrap it around his injured hand, but he snatched it from her. "I don't think that's necessary, do you?" They both knew what he wanted, the final proof, a confession of her nature by showing it to him. Molly couldn't see a way around it now. Taking a deep breath, she reached out and took hold of his hand, running her thumb along the path of the cut slowly. A soft green glow appeared under her thumb and she seemed to be erasing the wound. When she was done, his hand looked as good as new. Sherlock was very pleased.

"You're like me, aren't you?" she asked softly. "But you're a sorcerer." At this, Sherlock looked offended.

"Sorcerers are criminals and betrayers who rely on implements as a quick, cheap source of power.  _I_  am a  _wizard_. What on Earth gave you the idea I was a criminal? That completely flies in the face of everything you know about me. Honestly, woman, I pegged you as more intelligent than that." He snapped and Molly looked at her feet in embarrassment.

"Yes, of course, how silly of me. I'm terribly sorry, it's just...I heard stories...I thought wizards were only wishful thinking." She apologized and the man scoffed.

"You would be hard pressed to find a sorcerer who could do this." The cloth Sherlock had taken from her burst into a strip of blue flame. At first, it startled her, but then she began looking at it with awe. "I may be many things others find undesirable, Molly, but never think for a second that I would stoop so low as to sell out my own kind. Your secret is safe with me and I know you like me too much and are too kind to not keep mine as well."

"Yes, your right," Molly said nervously. "What does this mean, us knowing about each other?"

"It means you've passed the second part of the test. No one has before. Take a moment to feel proud of yourself so I don't have to deal with it at an inopportune occasion later." Sherlock answered as he brushed the ashes of the cloth off his hands.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Do try to keep up. I'm telling you that I'm considering making you my partner, assistant, collaborator...whatever you wish to call it."

"I think the traditional term is 'apprentice'." Molly put in timidly.

"No, no, no, apprentice implies that I wish to be your tutor and make a pact with you, but I have neither the time nor the patience for such things." Sherlock corrected with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"And...and what exactly would happen if I were to agree to...whatever it is that your offering?" Molly spoke slowly, thinking carefully about everything that was being said, but still struggling to believe its reality.

"Well, for one, you wouldn't have to live in that shack in the forest anymore. Your new home would be my castle not much farther than a day's ride from here. You'd never have to worry about starving or catching cold from poor shelter ever again. As for what you'd be doing there, you'd assist me with my experiments and research. Essentially, a symbiotic relationship would be established." The wizard explained and Molly had to remember to breathe. She quickly took a seat in a nearby wooden chair and Sherlock frowned at her. "What's the matter? Do you accept or not?"

"I...I don't know. This is all...a lot to take in. I've never met anyone like me before and a part of me wants very badly to accept what you offer, but I can't just leave these people. They need me." The woman stared at her hands in her lap as she said this.

"You owe them nothing. If they knew that you are more than you seem, they would turn on you without hesitation."

"I know, but if they all died of some sickness after I left, I'd never forgive myself."

"I see. If you change your mind, let me know." With that, he swept out of the apothecary looking somewhat disappointed. Molly did not see him again for many moons.

* * *

In the light of the flames from the burning log in the middle of the town square, Molly could see her breath misting in the air and she wrapped her shabby fur cloak tighter around herself. The other townsfolk kept warm by dancing, but she had no one to dance with. She felt out of place at this Winter festival. Then she saw him, cloak of pitch black feathers about his shoulders, approaching her out of the darkness.

"Your lips are turning purple. You should go inside and warm up if you're not going to dance with the others," Sir Sherlock said to her. She supposed this was as close to a genuine greeting as she was likely to get from him.

"I'll dance if you join too."

"I have no intentions of degrading myself by dancing like a peasant." He shot back and Molly laughed nervously. "Come on, let's get you somewhere warm." He put an arm around her shoulders, but just as they were about to turn toward the tavern, they heard the squawk of a raven and Sherlock looked up to see the bird fly down and land on his extended arm. "What is it?" he asked it with an annoyed frown. It made a noise and the wizard's eyes grew wide. Molly remained confused until a bone rattling roar ripped through the air. "DRAGON!" he yelled in warning and the town erupted in chaos. Screaming could be heard as said scaly creature appeared out of the dark sky to swoop down and breathe fire on several buildings. Sherlock whispered something to the raven before practically flinging it into the air. Turning to an absolutely terrified Molly, he grabbed her hand and they began to run. "Don't let go!" he told her urgently. In a matter of minutes, the town was completely ablaze. The smoke made it hard to see and Molly started coughing.

"Help!" she choked. Sherlock whistled loudly and through the smoke and flames came his horse, which he mounted with haste, pulling Molly up with him. She held tightly to his waist as they galloped down the main road, death and destruction all around. Molly tried to close her ears to the roaring and screaming, but it was no good. The dragon flew toward them and spat fire. Molly shrieked, but Sherlock made a sweeping motion with one hand and an invisible force deflected the attack.

"He's targeting us!" the wizard growled as they saw the dragon turn and fly back towards them. He began to mutter words of the ancient tongue that echoed with power as he spoke them. His blue eyes gleamed in the light of the burning buildings. Soon, they were racing into the forest and the dragon ceased to follow them. Molly looked back at the town that blazed like a beacon of death in the night. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. "I made us invisible, but it won't last much longer. After the spell fades, you mustn't look back or the dragon may be able to track us."

"Alright." was all Molly good bring herself to say before turning back around, frantically trying to wipe away the moisture from her cheeks and burying her face in Sherlock's back. The scent of mint and incense filled her nose and comforted her.

"We ride for my castle. We will be safe there." he told her, not knowing what else to say to a woman whose home had just been incinerated. Nothing further was said between them for a long time. Their pace slowed and Molly's sobs died away. She seemed to have fallen asleep. She did not wake until the next even. The calls of ravens stirred her from her slumber. Her eyes opened to see the birds dotted the sky and the branches of the trees. "They are my servants." Sherlock told her as she rubbed her eyes.

"Why did you choose them?"

"They are clever and unhindered by terrain. They also happen to be one of the few creatures I can stand." the man drawled. Molly smiled weakly. They came to an enormous clearing, which was the site of a dark castle. From its center rose a tower framed by four spires. The healer was in awe. "Behold, Holmes Castle. Your new home."

"It's beautiful." This brought a grin to Sherlock's lips as he dismounted and Molly followed. The doors opened for them as they went down the halls, lamps flared up to light their way. The place was warm, despite it being very cold outside. "Where are we going?"

"I will show you the study and the library and then your chambers." the wizard replied simply. After walking a few more meters, Sherlock stopped to open a door to their left. Inside was one of the messiest rooms Molly had ever seen in her entire life. Scrolls, books, vials, and all other manner of items were strewn everywhere in a sort of chaotic order, meaning that it looked like a mess to Molly, but she was sure Sherlock knew exactly where everything was. "The study. Most of the time, I can be found here." Just as the healer had begun formulating a plan to clean the place up, she was dragged off down the hall to a large room full to the brim with books. "The library. I've read everything in here. Help yourself. " He went over to the desk in the middle of the room and picked up a slip of parchment. "If you have any trouble finding what you're looking for, fill out one of these, rub the seal, and any books that fulfill the criteria will glow blue." Before she could fully take it the sheer number of books in one place, Molly was once again dragged out of the room. Sherlock next took her to a door on the other end of the castle. "Your chambers. You'll find them a grand improvement from your shack in the woods. I can see you're still emotionally raw from recent events, so I suggest you retire for the night as I do not wish to deal with you in this state. Good evening." Without another word, the dark haired man strode away.

* * *

Molly woke once again in a huge, unbelievably comfy four poster bed. Early morning light shone through the windows, lighting up the place cheerfully. The woman sat up and took a deep breath. Today, she would begin a new life as Sir Sherlock's assistant. She told herself she should be overjoyed, but her heart still ached with the horrible deaths of the townsfolk she had known all her adult life. At least she had the comfort that now she could be herself much more openly and would live with a wizard whom she loved more than anyone she had ever known.

The healer tossed aside her sheets and got up to go over to her wardrobe. She'd discovered the night before that it was full of gowns fit for the high class witches of old. Molly chose a red one covered in thin, golden spiraling designs and upon donning it found that it was fitted perfectly for her. Her heart melted at the thought that Sherlock had clearly put a great deal of effort into this. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt a surge of confidence and excitement. Holding onto these feelings, Molly went off to the study to see if Sherlock was up yet. What she found nearly made her panic. He was passed out in is desk chair with a flask of something in his hand. His breathing was slow and faint. She approached him and carefully took the flask from him to sniff the liquid inside.

"Dwale." she muttered with a grimace. It was an anesthetic. Why would Sherlock need a pain killer? Was he alright? Molly had heard of people abusing dwale because it relaxed them and sometimes gave them interesting visions, even though it was a highly dangerous substance. Sherlock wouldn't do that, would he? It would explain why he was always asking for belladonna and henbane whenever he came to her apothecary as they were key ingredients in the potion.

"Don't...touch...that..." Molly suddenly heard a faint voice hiss and she looked over to see Sherlock, with his eyes barely open, staring at her. He was coming out of his drug induced stupor. Molly quickly placed the flask on the desk and helped the man sit up.

"Why did you take dwale?" she asked.

"It's my only escape. Without it, my mind is like an angry, caged beast when I don't have anything worthwhile to focus on." His voice was growing stronger now, as was his irritation.

"You shouldn't muck about with stuff like this." Molly warned.

"I am well aware of the risks, thank you, Molly." Sherlock snapped. "You couldn't possibly understand. Now go and do something useful instead of standing there and lecturing me on what I should and should not do with my own body just because you're a healer and you're concerned." Before he could say anything more, the young woman nearly tripped over herself hurrying out of the study. She took refuge in the library, hoping that Sherlock's foul mood would fade in a few hours and he'd ask her to help him with something or at least tell her where the kitchen was so that she could eat.

For the entire morning, Molly poured over books on dragons, hoping to learn something that might tell her why her beloved town had been attacked by one. What could a creature like that want that the town might have? Nothing as far as she could see and from what she read, they didn't kill simply for the fun of it. The books themselves were brilliant, well written, and full of excellent illustrations. Molly felt privileged to even be touching them.

"You actually went and did something useful. I'm impressed." Molly almost jumped out of her seat when she heard a familiar baritone speak behind her. She stood and turned to see Sherlock standing before her, looking even more dashing than usual in a high collared, black tunic with ornate silver stitching. It gave Molly a lovely view of his neck, collar bones, and a bit of his chest, which caused her to blush. He was truly dressed like a wizard now.

"Well, I thought the dragon would be our first order of business, so I decided to do a bit of reading."

"Quite right. You've been studying all morning, which means you should have gathered sufficient knowledge by now and you're clearly hungry, so come have something to eat." He made a flipping gesture with his right hand and the book on the desk shut itself.

"Alright." With that, Molly followed Sherlock through the castle to an area she'd never been to before. Soon, they found themselves standing in a storage room full of food.

"Take anything you like." Sherlock told her. The healer took an apple and bit into it to discover that she'd never tasted anything so perfectly sweet in all her life.

"How?" was all she could say. Sherlock smirked at her look of reverence and awe.

"I know a spell that keeps food from spoiling. It's easy really."

"Is there anything you can't do?" Molly joked before taking another bite of her delicious apple.

"I can do anything I set my mind to." Sherlock replied seriously. There was an awkward silence that followed which Molly made no attempt to break. She'd already learned long ago that when she tried to break awkward silences, she only made things much worse. So instead, she munched away at her fruit while Sherlock watched (it was a bit unnerving). She ate everything but the stem and seeds, earning her a frown from the wizard.

"What? I don't waste food. If you recall, I was raised a peasant. When you're that close to starvation, I'd like to see you say no to an apple core." Molly quipped and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Are you done? If you're still hungry, there's no shortage of food here."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Aren't you going eat something?"

"No.

"Why not?"

"I'm not hungry. Besides, I don't eat when I'm working. It slows me down."

"Oh."

"Well, come along then. You need a horse of your own." With that, Sherlock strode off and Molly quickly hurried to keep up with him. "Get your cloak. The new one I gave you, not that tattered old thing that reeks of livestock." The healer was confused by this until she found a white fur cloak in the back of her wardrobe. For such a tactless man, he put a lot of work into making sure she had the finest he could offer.

She met back up with him outside the front doors of the castle. His expression was one of impatience. Just as they were about to head in the direction of the stables, a raven cawed at them and swooped down to land on his arm. A small scroll was tied to its leg. Sherlock took the item and the raven flew off. Hastily, he unrolled the scroll and scanned the words on it.

"What is it?" Molly inquired, craning her neck to get a better look at the message.

"The king has requested that I find and slay that dragon before it can strike again."


	3. A New World

"It's three days ride from here to the mountains. Take only necessities and get a good night's rest. We set out tomorrow morning." Sherlock explained to Molly from his desk chair as he watched her pack all manner of herbs into her satchel on the other side of the study. He noticed that she looked nervous and was avoiding meeting his gaze. "Something's bothering you. Tell me." He commanded. The healer finally looked up at him and gave him an anxious smile.

"Sorry, it's just...have you done this before? Slain a dragon, I mean." These words caused Sherlock to quirk an eyebrow with just a hint of derision.

"Yes, of course, you ridiculous woman. I believe this will be my fourth." he told Molly, moving his thin hands from the arms of his chair to rest under his chin in a prayer like position. A mixture of hurt and amazement came across the healer's face and Sherlock sighed. "Though to be fair, dear King Gregory would still ask me to do this, even if I'd never slain a dragon before. Given my skill set and the rest of his knights' incompetence, I'm the best man for the job."

"Does...does the king know about-"

"Yes, Molly, the king knows what I am. He sees it as a great asset, having my brother as his chief advisor and myself as one of his knights. You may be surprised to know that after generations of oppression towards our kind, this kingdom finally has a ruler who is sneaking scraps for us under the table while the old elite pressure him to continue their own moronic hatred for magic folk." At these words, Molly had a new found respect for King Gregory. Before, she had always assumed he was a bigot like everyone else, but now she had inside information telling her he was a good man. "Don't get all soft about it. The only reason he does it is that his mother was half-witch." Sherlock chided upon seeing Molly's expression.

"Oh, well, it's nice all the same." she replied quickly as she buckled her satchel and moved toward the door.

"Wait." Sherlock called and Molly looked back nervously to see him holding out a leather bag, full of what she did not know. "Take this and tie it to my horse while you're at it." The healer wanted to snap that she wasn't his servant, but then she reminded herself that that was rude and she was like a servant to him anyway. Taking the bag with a smile, Molly went out to the stables and added these last things to their supplies. She gave her new horse a pat on the neck to apologize for adding to the load. The white and gray creature huffed and turned to rub his nose on her shoulder. Molly giggled.

"You like me already, don't you, Hathane. I must say that's a refreshing change of pace." From the next stable over, she could see Sherlock's black horse, Faedred, glaring at them. Molly laughed at the thought that if any horse was able to glare, it would be Sherlock's.

* * *

The morning of their departure, Molly was rudely awakened at sunrise by the call of her name and a sudden cold draft to see Sir Sherlock standing at the side of her bed, staring down at her, having just peeled her sheets and blanket away from her. Realizing she, in her nightgown, was in full view of Sherlock, she blushed madly and scrambled for the sheets to cover herself.

"Morning, Molly. You've had enough sl-"

"What are you doing in my room!? I'm in my night things! This is indecent and discourteous and...and...have you no respect for privacy!?" Molly snapped hysterically and Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but did not move to exit the room.

"You're being ridiculous again. You needed waking and I'd rather not deal with the screaming that would have ensued had I sent a raven to do it. Additionally, it is a silly notion that the man who gave you that nightgown shouldn't be allowed to see you in it. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. Honestly, Molly. It's not as if you're actually naked." When this only served to deepen the healer's shade of red, he sighed and added, "Fine. Meet me at the gate in fifteen minutes." With that, he strode out of the room, leaving his assistant to scramble to get herself ready to go. However, in fifteen minutes, she had managed to get herself dressed, fed, on her horse, and at the gate. Sherlock seemed pleased with her.

They set off into the white covered forest in silence. It didn't take long for Molly to notice that there was no sound of hooves and they left no tracks in the snow. She learned that Sherlock knew a lot of practical magic, including a spell that pitched a tent for them in the night. When she was feeling brave, she asked questions of him. They were usually about their kind as all she knew was from what her parents had taught her. According to Sherlock, she belonged to one of the last lines of medicinal magic folk and she had to be careful about who knew that even amongst their own people because there were many sorcerers who would see her as a rare treasure to be taken and exploited. He told her of how pride and self respect had abandon their people after the civil war that had brought the kingdom to the state it was in today and made people of the Old Ways an endangered species. Molly could see the full extent of Sherlock's cynicism when he talked about these things. He would give her brief, jaded answers and if she didn't know better, she would have thought it was a touchy subject for him.

On the second night, Molly heard Sherlock softly playing a wooden flute outside the tent. The music was beautiful and she added it to the list of reasons why she was in love with him. She was lulled to sleep with a content smile on her lips, dreaming that the tune was for her. In the morning, she found him lying in the snow, passed out on dwale. A few hours had to be taken to get him awake and warm. He refused to talk to her about it afterwards.

In the evening, they began to climb the mountains and Sherlock explained how they would find the dragon's lair.

"Obviously we don't have the time or the resources to search the whole mountain range and the entrance to his lair will be hidden, but that's where I become particularly suited for this task." the wizard said with a grin. "I have keen observation skills and magic on my side. I know that the dragon must live fairly close to that town, but far enough away that its presence would go unnoticed until the time to strike came about. Hence my choosing this particular area to start. I also know that the a strong smell of brimstone indicates a nearby dragon den. I'm sure you read that in your studies. Once we start smelling brimstone, it's time to start looking for odd rock formations." he rattled off and Moly nodded in understanding.

"Alright. What about Faedred and Hathane? They can't go everywhere we can." At this, Sherlock stopped, stared blankly at his companion, and then dismounted. Molly followed suit, grinning to herself at the thought that this hadn't occurred to him.

"They'll stay here until we return." The woman thought it comforting that he was confident enough to not have an 'if' in his statement. It made her feel even safer at his side as they continued on foot. The cold seemed to run right through her despite her fur cloak and the thin air was doing nothing to improve the situation. The path they took grew more treacherous by the step to the point where they were edging along an area that only had enough rock sticking out of the side of the mountain to provide a foothold. Sherlock led the way and they coordinated with each other to get across as safely as possible. They came to rather large gap and Sherlock nimbly jumped across. Molly's breath hitched in that moment. It was quite a long way to fall down the side of the mountain. He turned and extended his arm to her. "Come on." he called.

"This is madness." Molly muttered, eyes wide with anxiety. The wizard gave her a look of impatience and stealing herself, she leapt into his open arms. He caught her and pulled her to safety like it was nothing. The woman blushed brightly at being so close to him, but it was over quickly as they continued up the mountain. The wind whipped their faces mercilessly as they went and Molly's limbs began to grow numb. She felt chilled to the bone.

"Molly, do you smell that? There's a hint of rotten eggs in the air. Brimstone, Molly! We're getting close. We have to follow our noses and-" Sherlock began but then stopped abruptly, realizing something was very wrong. He turned to see the healer tumbling down the snowing slope they had been attempting to scale. "Molly!" he yelled as he half-ran, half-slid down after her. She lay in a heap in the snow, looking exhausted as he bent down to pull her up.

"I'm sorry. I must've tripped. I'm just so tired. The thin air isn't making things easy." Molly groaned as Sherlock brushed snow off of her.

"Take a moment to breath. You'll be fine. As annoying as it is, we will slow our pace for your sake. It would be rather unfortunate to finally find a worthy assistant, only to have her fall off a mountain a week later." he told her, not letting go of his grip on her arm. He practically dragged her back up the slope and she did her best not to stumble and pull them both down the side of the mountain.

The smell of brimstone was growing stronger and with it Sherlock's excitement. "It can't be far now. Be on the lookout for anything that seems off." He told Molly as he pulled her up after him onto a ledge. She gave him a tired nod, but then her eyes widened when she caught sight of just what they had been searching for.

"Sir Sherlock, look! That rock formation there! There's no snow on it!" He looked where she was pointing and made a triumphant laugh.

"Excellent!" He exclaimed. "Come along!" Taking her hand again, he led her toward the snowless rock. The closer they got, the clearer it became that it was an illusion. They passed right through it as easily as one passes through air and found themselves suddenly out of the cold and wind. They were in a large, warm, stone passage. A blue flame flickered to life in Sherlock's outstretched, open palm, lighting their way.

"Can we stop for a moment, please?" Molly asked and the wizard frowned at her.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm not used to climbing mountains, I'm afraid." she answered and despite his look of irritation and impatience, he nodded. While Molly took a breather, he looked more closely at the walls.

"There are no markings. Normally, a dragon lair's entry way would be covered in spells to ward off unwanted visitors. This means that our dragon either moved in very recently or wants people to find him. Given what we know about the nature of these creatures, I'd say the former is far more likely. Going by the shoddy job of carving out the passage, I think he not only moved in recently, but also in quite a hurry. What's that about?" Sherlock deduced, pausing to think about his own question. A look of realization dawned on his pale features a few moments later. "Ah! Of course! This dragon is not his own master! Someone sent him to destroy that town, someone far away. Oooh, this is getting rather interesting." At this point, Molly didn't bother to berate him about being so openly elated without any consideration for her feelings toward the destroyed town. She understood that he was different and he had his own way of expressing himself. At least he was honest, but his behavior still hurt her sometimes.

"Alright. I'm ready to go on." Molly spoke up and Sherlock's grin widened. Seeing this, she was suddenly struck with the mental image of them arm in arm, skipping merrily down the corridor and into the hoard chamber, wearing cheery smiles while the dragon exhaled a shower of flowers onto them and proclaimed them man and wife. This caused a grin to appear on Molly's face as well and she had to suppress a giggle. The brimstone in the air must have been making her have these strange daydreams. The wizard quirked and eyebrow at her.

"Right then. Onward." he said before turning and heading down the corridor. Molly hurried to catch up. The further they went in, the clearer it became that the creation of this place was rushed. Stalactites and stalagmites were still very present and the walls were rough and unmarked. The passages had a natural, twisting flow to them. "We're getting close." Sherlock suddenly spoke, stopping and standing very still. Molly followed suit. "Listen." For a moment, they were in complete silence, but then they heard a deep rumble, the sound of a dragon snoring.

"He's asleep. We can surprise him." Molly whispered.

"Very good, Molly. Now we must be as quiet as possible. If he senses anything, he will wake and we will be in a great deal of danger. I have to extinguish the light now or he might feel something coming. You know what to do." At this, the healer nodded and took hold of Sherlock's hand. The blue flame went out and they were in total darkness. Molly felt the wizard lead her forward and at first, she was terrified, but eventually she calmed and found comfort in Sherlock's guidance. He knew what he was doing and she trusted him.

They went on for seemingly hours before Sherlock stopped and Molly nearly crashed into him.

"What's the matter?" she asked as softly as she could.

"It's no use. We'll have to." he breathed back and before his companion could say anything, he took another step and set off a chain reaction of torches lighting in an enormous circle at the center of which was a pit. In that pit, along with a pile of glittering riches, lay their quarry. With the lighting of the torches, his coppery eyes opened to look straight at them. He inhaled and Sherlock yanked Molly to the side, raising his arm just in time to summon an invisible shield to block the oncoming flames. A scream caught in the healer's throat. Sherlock drew his sword and she immediately noticed that it was a different sword than the one she had seen him use the first time he had led her through darkness and danger. This one had ancient writing on the blade and was clearly better made. It was a sword that one of the princes of old might have possessed. It gleamed in the light of the torches. "That was a waste of fire, you idiotic beast." Sherlock called and the dragon let out a bone shattering roar of rage.

"Arrogant wizard! I'll show you my fury!" He lunged, scaly claw making a swipe for Sherlock and Molly. However, he was met with the sword and let out a screech of pain as the blade imbedded itself in his reptilian flesh.

"Your sword pierced a dragon's hide!" Molly exclaimed in disbelief.

"Yes, obviously. Now why don't you run and hide before we both get killed because I had to split my attention protecting you." Sherlock shot back. Molly reluctantly left his side to take shelter behind a large boulder. She wanted to help, but she saw his point. Right now, she was only a liability.

The woman watched from her hiding place as Sherlock clashed with the dragon in a dazzling display of power. She had never realized before now just how powerful the man was. To be a match for such a creature's strength and will was a truly impressive feat to behold. However, she soon discovered that he could not handle direct physical blows. He was tiring quickly and Molly couldn't help but let out a cry when she saw the dragon's tail connect with Sherlock's side, knocking him into the jagged, rocky wall.

"Foolish mortal." the dragon growled at the wizard's prone body. He turned at the sound of Molly's scream. "I hope your woman tastes better than you fight." He approached her hiding place and she closed her hand around a vial in her satchel. He moved to strike, his maw gaping wide in anticipation of snatching her up with his teeth. Once he was close enough, Molly swallowed her fear, jumped up, and threw the vial into his face. It smashed and the contents splashed all over his snout and eyes. He shrieked and reared back as the acid she had tossed at him blinded him. While she had her chance, the healer ran out from behind the boulder and to Sherlock's side. He groaned as she sat him up. There was a bit of sharp rock sticking out of the side of his abdomen. She pulled it out and he gasped in pain. Unfortunately, before Molly could begin healing the wound, the dragon came stumbling in their direction as he was still very much able to hear them. Sherlock took up his sword and staggered to his feet. Lunging forward, he sank his blade into the dragon's chest. The creature let out a terrible cry and the knight yanked his sword free, hurriedly getting out of the way so as to avoid being crushed by the weight of a fallen dragon.

"Sir Sherlock!" Molly caught Sherlock as he stumbled backwards in his weakened state. He clutched his bleeding wound and shrugged her off before going to kneel beside the head of the dying reptilian form.

"Tell me who sent you. I want a name." he rasped. He received his answer in the form of a deep, resonating chuckle. "TELL ME!" the wizard demanded, pressing the tip of his sword into the joint of the dragon's wing. He made an odd wheezing sound before replying.

"You will know his greatness yet, Raven Prince."

"WHO?!" The blade went further in.

"MORIARTY!" he cried in agony before going completely still. Sherlock sheathed his sword and let out a ragged breath. Molly rushed to his side and gingerly placed her hand over his wound. A soft green glow emanated from beneath her palm and moments later, there was clear skin where there once had been an opening. Blood ran down the right side of Sherlock's face from his hairline to his chin. Molly found the cut on his scalp from which in originated and healed that too. He let her do this in silence.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"You needn't bother with the bruising, but a rib is broken." Sherlock replied breathlessly. He sounded like he was in a lot of pain. A highly concerned expression came across Molly's features.

"Alright. For that, you'll have to lie back and open your tunic. I need to be able to touch as close to the injured area as possible." As much as the healer blushed at the thought of seeing Sherlock's bare torso, it needed to be done and he complied without hesitation. She immediately saw which rib was broken and put both hands on the swelling skin. A sharp intake of breath came from Sherlock, but he didn't snap at her. She closed her eyes and the same green glow appeared, but brighter this time. The wizard could feel his rib come into the correct alignment and heal. It was excruciating, but he didn't make a sound. With her work done, Molly retracted her hands, but she didn't fail to finally noticed the mark over his heart. It was some sort of magic seal that seemed to be fused into his skin with purple ink. She found herself unable to look away from it.

"I thought it was impolite to stare, Molly." Sherlock told her as he closed his tunic. She hastily looked away, blushing. She wanted to ask about the seal, but she knew it was probably better if she didn't. "Our task is done. Come. We must return home and write to the king." Molly followed him in silence, but that seal nagged away at the back of her mind.


	4. A Study in Seals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains medieval drug overdose.

It felt odd to Molly at first that home meant Holmes Castle. In the years previous, home had meant a sad little house in the forest. She was still getting used to being a resident of a huge place of dark stone and tall spires. Stranger yet was that with the slaying of the dragon, Molly suddenly found herself a very wealthy young woman. Sherlock had insisted upon giving her two thirds of the hoard that was now theirs, though she tried to refuse, saying she had done nothing to deserve such riches. He told her that was nonsense and backhandedly complimented her on saving both their lives. Then he proceeded to dictate his letter to King Gregory, expecting her to write it out for him. Before she could object, Sherlock told the healer that she had exceptionally good handwriting for a commoner. This was enough to win her over, as his compliments usually were. She sat down at his desk, taking up his quill and a piece of parchment. She wrote the following words at Sherlock's command:

_Your Majesty,_

_I write to inform you that the threat has been annihilated and the hoard plundered. I may have neglected to inform you in my previous letter that I have acquired an assistant: Molly of Brunton, Daughter of the Hooper. She is one of my sort and has proven to be quite a valuable ally. She should be accorded the same respect as a lady of the court when I present her to you in the spring. However, if at all possible, do not breathe a word of her existence to anyone until then. I don't want to deal with Mycroft's snooping._

_Try not to let the kingdom fall due to the other knights' incompetence while I'm away,_

_Sir Sherlock of Holmes_

Molly handed the letter to him and he signed it. After it was folded and sealed, Sherlock called a raven and sent it on its way with the letter tied to its leg.

With their task accomplished, they now had to wait out the remaining winter months until the spring when the pass to the other side of the mountains and the capital city would be cleared of snow. Sherlock grew bored very quickly and Molly was hard pressed to keep him happy. Experiments lost their luster and the wizard turned to drugs to ease his racing mind. More often than not, she found him slumped in his desk chair, knocked out on dwale. It began to deeply worry her that he was addicted to the release that the potion offered. A month of this behavior saw his health go from shoddy to dreadful. Molly tried to keep him away from his flask of dwale, but it was no use. He pushed her away with venomous words. However, she refused to give in.

On the occasions in which Sherlock locked himself away, Molly spent the time in the library trying to find something that might help him. She poured over books on addiction, all the while worrying that Sherlock might overdose and die without her knowing. Unfortunately, she was right to worry.

One night, after three days of not hearing a peep from Sherlock, Molly decided that it was time for an intervention. She knocked on the study door, but no answer came, not even a groan to let her know he was still alive. Panic soon took hold of her when she found the door locked. She rushed to the library and filled out a card for books on lock picking. Frantically rubbing the seal, three books glowed blue and the healer grabbed the nearest one. It was a spell book. Molly had never done magic that wasn't medicinal before, but it didn't cross her mind in that moment. She just read how to do the spell and ran back to the study door. Making a twisting motion with her hand, a key of green energy appeared and clicked open the door. She burst in to see Sherlock in a heap on the floor. It looked as if he'd slid out of his chair. Kneeling beside him, she placed her head on his chest and listened for a heartbeat. It was faint and weak, but it was still there. Hurriedly, Molly started grabbing jars off the shelves and putting dashes of their contents in her mortar and pestle. She ground them into a paste, added water, and forced Sherlock to drink the mix. Moments later, his eyes opened and the healer placed a pail next to him into which he was sick. Then he rolled unto his side, shaking. His pale skin had taken on a greenish tint and he was wincing like his head hurt. She handed him a cup of another potion which he drank without question. His shaking stopped and Molly noticed that his thin fingers were weakly clutching the fabric of her gown's skirt.

"Molly..." he rasped, his eyes starting to close again.

"No, no, no. Sherlock, I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me? Come on. Let's get you cleaned up." she said, brushing a few dark curls out of his eyes. Though barely awake, the knight did as he was told and in an hour, he was laying in his bed, freshly washed and on the track to recovery with Molly tending to him. "I think it's safe for you to sleep now. The drug will be out of your system by morning. Before you sleep, though, I want you to promise me that you'll never touch the stuff again." She didn't get an answer because he was already out after her first sentence. For that reason, she locked all her herbs away and smashed Sherlock's dwale flask.

He wasn't cross with her later when he had recovered and found out what she'd done. In fact, he seemed to act somewhat kinder towards her than before. Of course, Sherlock's kindness scale was a bit different than other people's, but he no longer made jibes at her intelligence or willingness to serve him and in Molly's eyes, that was a big step. It took a bit, but she did get Sherlock to start experimenting again to keep him from being tempted to take dwale. She knew he'd never admit it, but sometimes, when he was working, she could see him suffering from withdrawal. When it was particularly bad, she wordlessly made him medicinal tea and he accepted it without comment. He never told her that he'd been addicted to dwale since he was a teenager and she wasn't the first to try to get him clean, but she was by far the most successful.

After a while, the irritableness of his withdrawal ebbed away and Sherlock became healthier than Molly had ever seen him. He seemed happy, for lack of a better word, and was eager to teach her new things, bringing her further into his world. He'd even laughed when he was teaching her to communicate with ravens and she'd freaked out and fallen into the snow because one had landed on her shoulder. That had turned into a snowball fight that Molly quickly lost because she couldn't make ten snowballs at once with magic. Later that same day, she'd heard Sherlock playing an upbeat tune on his flute and the healer decided she wouldn't trade this life for anything, even if the man she loved didn't love her back.

* * *

Roughly a month before the weather was due to get warmer, their blissful days came to an end. Molly had decided that she was going to try harder to get Sherlock to notice her. She was going to cook a fancy dinner and wear her very best, and so on and so forth. It was an occasion she felt merited some jewelry, so she went down to the vault that was now hers and looked through the various trinkets that had been part of her share from the dragon's hoard. That was when she saw it: an amethyst necklace with familiar markings upon it. It took Molly a few moments to recall where she'd seen those symbols before, and when she did, she gasped and nearly dropped the necklace. She'd seen those markings on Sherlock's chest when she'd glimpsed the purple seal over his heart. Immediately, she took the necklace with her to the library and began researching the marks. Unfortunately, she could find nothing, but she did recognize some of the smaller, more script like symbols form the wizard's skin in a book on curse seals. Before she could read on and discover their meaning, Sherlock came into the library.

"Molly, what have you been doing? I asked you to-" he started, but then he stopped when he saw the necklace and the book in front of her. He suddenly looked very displeased. "Where did you get that necklace?" he demanded.

"It was in my share of the dragon's treasure. I recognized the markings. They're also on your chest. I was curious." Molly replied honestly. Before she could say anything more, Sherlock snatched the necklace from her, staring at it with a grimace. "What is it?"

"You're correct, but you won't find this in any book. It's not a magical symbol so much as a signature, a brand. It's the mark of the sorceress Irene. Many call her The Woman or Lady Eagle. I know her well." At this, a thousand questions ran through Molly's mind, but primarily, she wanted to know how well and in exactly what manner Sherlock knew this Irene. "It's very interesting that something of hers should be in the possession of a dragon. Very interesting indeed." With this, Sherlock put his hands together under his chin.

"Why have you got her mark stamped on you?" the healer asked shakily and his blue gaze shot to her.

"As you may have already guessed, she...cursed me." he replied, beginning flatly but ending with a tone of slight uncertainty. He didn't know if curse was truly the right word for it.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No!" he snapped back, rather more forcefully than Molly would ever have expected. "I have business with her to attend to now that you've brought this to my attention. Prepare Faedred for a four day journey. I will be riding out in the morning."

"What about me?"

"Under no circumstances are you to come into contact with The Woman. For that reason, I am going alone." Sherlock responded grimly. "I can't have her even knowing you exist."

"Why?"

"She would manipulate you." he said sternly and Molly felt a little hurt. Did he not trust her loyalty? Then again, anyone who could place a curse on Sherlock had to be powerful and worthy of being cautious about. "From now on, this is a matter that I will be investigating alone."

"Alright." Molly said softly and Sherlock walked briskly out of the room, necklace in hand. However, this would not be the end of the healer's involvement in this affair, despite Sherlock's objections.

In the morning, just as the wizard was about to set off, an eagle flew into the stables with a scroll tied to its leg. Taking the scroll, Sherlock made a shooing motion at the eagle. The bird flew away, chased by displeased ravens. The man gritted his teeth as he read the elegantly written words on the parchment.

"What is it?" Molly asked.

"She knows about you and has refused to speak with me unless I bring you with me." he replied solemnly. The woman's eyes grew wide. "Get your things. We haven't got all day." With this, Molly didn't hesitate to do as she was told. An hour later, they had set off into the forest, heading north. Sherlock questioned her for a while, trying to figure out how Irene had discovered Molly's presence in his life. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that one of The Woman's eagles had breached his security to spy on him, after which point he ceased to show any anger toward Molly. It worried her that a man like Sherlock could be casual about a dragon, but this sorceress bothered him. Obviously there was something about her that was putting Sherlock on edge and whatever it was, he was deliberately keeping it from the healer. All Molly knew was that it had something to do with Sherlock's curse.

When they finally reached the part of the forest that Irene had claimed her own, Molly instantly knew it was the home of a practitioner of the Old Ways. The air thrummed with magic to anyone who could sense it. Eagles littered the sky and lined the trees. Irene's castle was not of stone like Sherlock's. No, it was grown from the earth by thick vines of a very dark color. It was like nothing Molly had ever seen before, eerie yet beautiful. The gates opened for them unprompted as did the castle doors. It was dark inside and Molly felt increasingly uneasy. A floating purple light appeared and guided them through the corridors to Irene's study. They found her there, lounging on a cushioned window sill. She smiled and got up when they entered. Her sorceress gown was white and had stylish strips of black leather crisscrossed over her abdomen and upper arms. She was beautiful and Molly caught herself feeling very jealous. Then she saw the pendant around The Woman's neck. It was an obsidian heart shape inside of which glowed a fiery red little light. Molly didn't know why, but it captivated her.

"Dear, sweet Sherlock. So good of you to come." Irene greeted as she circled Sherlock, dragging her thin hand down the side of his face to his chest and up over his shoulder. His only reaction was to frown. "Ah, and this must be the peasant girl, Molly." She came to stand before the healer, scanning her with a smirk on her lips. "Oh, look. I think your servant fancies you. How interesting." At this, Molly's cheeks turned bright red and Sherlock let out a low growl. "Have you told her yet?"

"She's not my servant. She's my assistant and you're making her uncomfortable. Keep your distance." Sherlock snapped and Irene grinned like the cat that got the canary.

"So you haven't. That's rather mean of you."

"What are you two on about!?" Molly burst out, a little hysteria in her voice.

"Sherlock has a little secret." Irene began.

"Shut up! She doesn't need to know." The frustration was clear on Sherlock's features now, but Irene continued to look amused.

"Why? Are you scared?" At this, the wizard scoffed, but the sorceress continued. "You're scared of what she might be, aren't you?"

"Nonsense."

"Then why can't she know? I think she should. So cruel to not tell a woman pining for you that you cannot love her." These words caused Molly to turn very pale and she looked to be in complete shock. Irene continued to look pleased. "Sherlock, dear, tell your pet about your curse."

"This is not what I came here for, Woman." the wizard snarled, stepping between his assistant and Irene almost protectively.

"If you won't tell her then I will." the sorceress fired back levelly, slinking around Sherlock to address Molly. She held up her pendant for the brunette to see. "Do you know what this is?" she asked. Molly didn't seem to be able to bring herself to speak, but shook her head. "This is a piece of Sherlock's soul. The part that allows him to love. And I own it."

"That's enough!" Sherlock hissed and purple and blue sparks flew from a point in the air between them. "You're upsetting my assistant. She is far more valuable to me in an emotionally stable state and I'll not have you damaging that stability."

"Oh, so defensive. Are you feeling exposed? My, my, Sherlock. I've never known you to be-"

"Are you trying to pressure me into submission? Pathetic. I'll tell her myself as long as you hold up your end of the deal and tell me everything I want to know." There was a venom in Sherlock's voice that Molly had only heard twice before. On both occasions, he'd threatened to throw her in the dungeon. Irene continued to be all smiles.

"With terms like that, I'll happily agree." she purred. "Well, go on. Tell Molly your delightful secret." At this point, the healer looked like she was ready to pass out.

"Molly, you've seen the mark on my chest. I'm sure you've figured out most of the technicalities by now, being moderately intelligent as you are. I was once put in the position of needing to pay Lady Eagle. I gave her what she wanted. The evidence of that is before you. What she said was true. I cannot love. It hardly matters. Now, can we please get on with business?" Sherlock's words did very little to comfort Molly. The stunned expression remained on the young woman's face.

"Oh, very well, Sherlock. We shall now discuss the object in your pocket." This prompted the wizard to take out the necklace and chuck it into Irene's outstretched hand.

"I didn't know you were dealing with dragons, Irene. What's this about? Are you the one who sent him to destroy that village? No, I don't think so. What would you have to gain? That's not your style anyway. Who's Moriarty?" Sherlock asked with a scowl. The Woman let out a small laugh and sauntered over to her throne-like chair before responding.

"Ooh, you're not bad. I really should take all of your soul next time so I can have you on a leash. Possibly even the girl as well." Irene said suggestively, implying that there might be a contract of sorts between Sherlock and Molly.

"I already told you, Woman. Molly is not bound to me. She is a free woman and  _it shall remain that way_." the knight snapped coolly. "I am in no mood for your insipid games. Tell me what I wish to know." A threat was clear in Sherlock's silvery blue eyes. The sorceress was not an idiot. She knew when to give ground.

"Moriarty is one of us. He seeks to bring the Old Ways back to their glory." Irene answered in a much more serious tone than before. The wizard took a moment to look over her carefully before replying.

"Obviously you've conducted business with him. Going by the state of this place, I'd say he's done you a good turn or two. You told him about a dragon you'd worked with before and he used you as a connection to get a town of innocent people. You clearly like him and approve of his cause. You always were one for the dark types, weren't you." Sherlock drawled, making facial gestures as he spoke. A leer appeared on the dark haired woman's features and she leaned forward a little.

"I would have you right here on the floor until you fell unconscious from exhaustion, but I think sweet Molly would mind. Or perhaps she would like to join us?" At this, said healer turned bright red once again and her breath hitched.

"Woman! If you break my assistant, I shall not be held accountable for what might happen to you and know that no one would ever find your body." Sherlock threatened before grabbing Molly's arm and dragging her towards the door. "Breathe." he muttered in reminder to her sternly.

"It was lovely to see you too, Sherlock!" the sorceress called after them. "Oh, and Molly?" The two paused to look back and see Irene untie the black ribbon from which hung the obsidian heart. She tossed it to Molly, who caught it on reflex. "A gift for being such a good guest." she told her with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering why Irene has the title "Lady Eagle", it's because Adler means eagle in German.


	5. Choices

After returning home from their visit to The Woman, Sir Sherlock took Molly aside and spoke to her about Irene's gift. The fact that she had given his assistant her pendant containing part of his soul troubled him greatly and it came across in his words.

"Molly, you must be very careful with it. If something were to happen to it, great harm would come to me and I know you don't want that."

"It's safe with me." The healer replied with a smile, but she was met with a frown from Sherlock. "What's the matter?"

"Molly, I think you should know, now that Irene has forced this upon you, that I was willing to give her a piece of my soul because I don't want that part of me. Promise me that you won't let your own sentimental feelings for me cloud your judgement. Promise me you won't try to lift the spell," Sherlock said, taking hold of the young woman's arms and forcing her to look him in the eyes. Her cheeks flushed with color and she wanted to look away from his striking stormy gaze, but she couldn't. After a long moment, she responded softly.

"Perhaps it would just be easier if I gave it to you." Molly held the pendant out to him, but he pushed her away, looking frustrated.

"Don't be an idiot! If that were an option, I would already have asked it of you! The curse specifies that I cannot touch the vessel of my soul shard. It has to be carried by another until it is destroyed or I am made whole again." he explained, starting to pace.

"Why did Lady Irene give it to me?" Molly asked and Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.

"It's better for both of us if you don't know the answer to that question, Molly. Just know that what The Woman wanted doesn't matter because you would never use the shard to exploit me." With that, the conversation ended and Sherlock moved on to his work. Molly felt a little broken inside. She hated herself for falling in love with such a terrible, wonderful man whom she now knew for certain couldn't return her feelings. In fact, he seemed to be of the opinion that her affection was an unfortunate weakness and from the way he spoke to her, she was beginning to feel like it truly was.

Still, the healer carried on being Sir Sherlock's loyal colleague and tried to be happy for what she did have. When spring came, the snow melted away and the forest came to life. Molly smiled serenely as she sat at her bedroom window and watched a pigeon fly by. The air smelled fresh and it lifted her spirits after such an emotionally trying winter.

One morning, Sherlock told her they would be heading off to the capital city now that he was sure the pass through the mountains was clear. He then proceeded to go to a lot of trouble to make sure she could pass as a lady of the court before they set off on their journey. She felt like a queen in the clothing and jewelry he had insisted she wear. It was different and strange compared to wearing expensive witch's gowns and served as a sharp reminder that she was stepping back into a world where magic was stigmatized.

"Molly, you know what is expected of you while you are here. Do not speak unless spoken to. This is not the place to display your talent for gaffe making." Sherlock told her as they passed through the gates of the city. She nodded nervously, though she forgot her embarrassment when she took in the sight before. Never in her life had she laid eyes upon so grand a place. The streets were cobbled with white stone and bustled with the activity of a thousand people. The palace towered above everything at the center of it all, its white arches glowing in the evening light. It was breathtaking. Sherlock noticed Molly's look of awe and commented. "Yes, it's dazzling until you see the slums." He always seemed to know the perfect way to kill the mood. Sighing, the healer followed after him. As they went, peasants and beggars along the streets stopped and bowed their heads at the two. It felt strange to Molly. She gave coins to the beggars, feeling empathy for them. A couple of times, Sir Sherlock chipped in, much to her surprise. He was silent, but she could see the faintest of smiles on his lips.

Once, as Molly dropped two gold coins into an old woman's cup, she took the healer's hand and leaned in close to whisper to her.

"I know what it is you carry, young lady. You possess two halves of a whole, one within you and the other in a small object."

"Sorry?"

"You have been kind to me, as you have been to the prince who at first glance does not deserve it."

"What prince? I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"When the half that is not yours is returned to its owner, both parts will seem farther from becoming one than ever before, but if you continue to heed the raven's call, all will be as it should be." With that, the old woman let go at disappeared into the crowd. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Molly wearily. He hadn't heard what had been said, but he didn't like it all the same.

"Don't pay any attention to whatever she said to you. She's just a mad old woman." he told her sternly before they went on their way. Despite the man's advice, the old woman's words stuck with Molly and she continued to think of them until they reached the palace. What had she meant? Who was this prince she supposedly knew and had treated well? Perhaps Sherlock was right and it was just the ravings of a mad woman. She was distracted from these thoughts when they stopped at the palace gates and a guard addressed them.

"Halt! Who are you?" The question was directed to Molly. Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh.

"Clearly she's with me, imbeciles. You know who I am and unless you are trying to make the unwise implication that I, a knight, am bringing someone untrustworthy into the palace, I suggest you let us pass." he snapped and the guards immediately stood aside.

"Sorry, my lord! We meant no offense! We've been instructed to ask the identity of any unknown persons."

"Yes, and in this case, because you were not using your heads, it was a waste of everyone's time. Good evening." With that, Sherlock and Molly went on their way. Servants took their horses and as they went through the halls of the palace, the healer found herself growing very nervous. She was about to see the king. How could she not be nervous? "Molly, there's nothing to get worked up about. He's just a man who happens to have inherited the shiny, metal circle around his head. While you are with me, he has no power over you except that which you give him in respect." Sherlock told her upon seeing her anxious state. Before she could respond to him, he had pushed open the doors to the throne room and gave her a light nudge through the entry way.

"Ah, Sir Sherlock. I had a feeling you'd show up soon." the king greeted them. He was a tall, silver haired man and time had been kind to his looks. His voice had a timber to it that was kind and yet not absent of authority. All in all, he appeared to be the sort of person one would expect to be a good ruler.

"Your Majesty, may I present to you the healer Molly." Sherlock introduced her with a bow which she echoed. King Gregory got up from his seat to kiss Molly's hand, causing her to blush.

"It is wonderful to finally meet you, my dear. You must be truly exceptional if Sir Sherlock has decided to take you in after the terrible event that destroyed your home. Am I to understand that you played a part in delivering justice to the monster that did it?"

"Yes, sire." Molly answered shyly and the king smiled.

"You are a very brave young woman, Molly. I know knights with far greater warrior skills than you who would not fight a dragon." At this, Sherlock looked like he was about to make a comment, but King Gregory shot him down with a glare. "While you are here, you are considered a royal guest and while be treated as such."

"Thank you, sire. You are most gracious."

"I would like you and Sir Sherlock to join me for dinner in a few hours. In the meantime, please make yourself at home."

"Of course, sire." Molly answered, beaming as Sherlock let out a sigh.

* * *

"...then Molly patched me up and we went on our way. Later, she discovered the mark of one of my contacts on an item in the hoard. We paid a visit to this contact and learnt the nature of Moriarty. This enemy is a sorcerer seeking to bring the people back to the Old Ways through terrorism and more than likely ending in tyrannical rule." Sherlock explained as he shared a meal with the king and Molly (who was very quiet while the men spoke). "You are aware of what that means for not only you, but myself as well as my brother." This statement caused Molly to frown in confusion. What were they talking about? What did Sherlock and his brother have to do with a taking of the crown? The healer's bewilderment seemed to go unnoticed by the other two, unfortunately.

"Yes, and we must wage this war discreetly. I'm sure you know that if the council were to get wind of this, they'd send for witch hunters in a heartbeat. It's already a miracle I've managed to keep them at bay this long."

"Indeed. It's also entirely possible that I already know Moriarty by another name. In fact, it's more than likely, considering that if he's powerful enough to command a dragon there's little chance he isn't well known amongst my people in some way."

"That's good. That means your list of people to investigate is relatively short."

"That's one way to look at it." Sherlock replied wryly. He never enjoyed the prospect of hunting his own kind. They were so few in number these days and it was such a waste when one of them went out of control and had to be put down.

"Molly, you've been rather quiet this whole time. What have you to say on these matters? Sir Sherlock hasn't said anything about your place in what's coming." King Gregory addressed the young woman and she looked up from her plate to smile nervously.

"My place is wherever Sir Sherlock needs me to be." she said softly and she could see Sherlock smirking out of the corner of her eye.

"Remarkable. And what he says is true? You are not bound to him in any official manner?"

"Yes, it's true, sire."

"Sherlock, could it be that you of all people managed to win the complete loyalty of a prize of a peasant girl without even trying?" At this, the knight let out a contemptuous huff.

"She calls you 'sire' and you turn right around and call her a peasant girl." he sneered.

"I meant no offense."

"Did I not make it clear that she should not to be treated that way? Or do I need to go down the list of reasons why you should show her at least as much respect as you show me?" Molly gaped at these words. Never in a thousand years had she expected to ever witness a knight tell a king to treat her like a lady. The fact that it was Sherlock was icing on the cake. The way he behaved, it was as if he felt he was the only one allowed to insult her.

"I apologize, Molly." King Gregory told the healer, glaring at Sherlock as he spoke. "I think it is best that we all retire now. Sir Sherlock, I'll see you at the meeting of knights tomorrow morning."

"Of course." the dark haired man responded flatly before he and Molly took their leave.

* * *

There was nothing quite like being served breakfast in one's own lavish chambers. Molly could scarcely believe any of this was happening to her. Her life had taken such a complete turn around in the last year that it was almost dizzying. To add to the confusion, Sir Sherlock treated her both wonderfully and terribly, often in the same breath, and yet she still managed to love him with all her heart.

Molly thought of everything he had said the night before as she ate her first meal of the day and realized that no matter how terrible he was to her, he always managed to do something, intentionally or not, that would have her coming back for more. It was a little embarrassing, but Molly rationalized that people do silly things when they are in love. She had picked the worst man to fall in love with, too. Well, okay, definitely not the  _worst_. He was clever, handsome, knowledgeable, and eccentric. He had saved her life more than once and provided for her at the highest quality. Her life was exciting with him in it. He was a  _wizard_.

Molly stopped her train of thought right there. She couldn't allow herself to gloss over all of Sherlock's flaws. Brilliance was no excuse for tactlessness.

Suddenly, Molly got the strong urge to take the pendant out and look at it. It was like it was calling to her, whispering her name. For a moment, she began reaching up to touch it, but then she halted herself. She stood up and went over to her chamber window to look out at the clear morning sky and get some fresh air. A pigeon flew past and she was struck by a sense of deja vu.

"Please come with me." she heard a female voice call and she gasped in fright, turning around to see a young brunette woman standing by the door.

"Why?" Molly asked, voice full of apprehension.

"My master wishes to speak with you." Cautiously, the young healer followed the woman to another part of the palace which she had never seen before. She was taken to a room that was occupied solely by a tall man sitting in a high, cushioned chair. He looked up when Molly entered and gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his blue eyes. The woman from before seemed to have gone and her master was now gesturing for Molly to take a seat in a chair across from him. She did as she was asked silently.

"I can see that you are a little confused at the moment, Molly. I take that to mean my dear brother has neglected to say much about me. How very like him." The man's voice was very high class in tone and Molly's mind instantly made the connect between his words and his appearance.

"Brother? Are you Sir Mycroft?"

"Ah, so he has at least mentioned my name. Well, do you know why you're here, Molly?"

"I'm certain it has something to do with Sir Sherlock, but other than that, I know nothing." the healer answered carefully.

"It has to do a great deal with both my brother and you. Do you know how long he has been abusing dwale? He began when he was still a boy. Four people have since tried to save him from that downward spiral. You are the only one to be successful. Why do you imagine that is?"

"I'm a healer." Molly replied simply and Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"That's certainly a factor, but I don't think that's all. You see, my brother has never had anyone like you in his life before and I think now that I know what it is you carry about your neck, we can be sure of why that is. You are very important, Molly." the brown haired man explained as he examined the goblet in his hand.

"How can I be important? I'm nobody."

"The very fact that you are here is evidence to the contrary. Sherlock does not go out of his way to rescue damsels in distress, let alone proceed to take them under his wing. You are a very special case. He may not realize it, but his choices regarding you have been entirely because your fates are so tightly intertwined that he cannot help himself."

"How could you possibly know something like that for certain?" Molly inquired, brown orbs wide with shock and confusion. Mycroft let out a small, wry laugh before responding.

"Because I have seen it." Molly gaped at this. She had known that Sherlock's brother was a wizard, but he had never mentioned that he was a seer. No wonder the man was such a valued advisor to the king. "The actions you take now have a direct and large impact on not just his future, but that of the entire kingdom. I have seen three ways in which the coming events could develop. One, Sherlock fails to fulfill his destiny and Moriarty succeeds in bringing about an age of fear for all. Two, he does fulfill his destiny, but the kingdom is torn apart by a second civil war. Three, he fulfills his destiny and the kingdom is brought into a time of peace and prosperity. All of these are possibilities based on the choices you make. Those of us against Moriarty are sincerely hoping for that third path to come to pass." With these words, Molly became very grateful that she was seated. If she had been standing, she probably would have fainted.

"I...I don't understand. Why me? What destiny?" she managed to say.

"It has everything to do with your pendant. The one Lady Irene gave you. You must find a way to break the curse." At this, the healer's hand automatically rose to rest over the place where the aforementioned pendant was hidden under her gown.

"But Sir Sherlock asked me specifically never to attempt such a thing."

"That's because he's terrified of having a heart." Before Molly could form a coherent response to this, the door burst open and Sir Sherlock came barging in.

"Mycroft!" he bellowed. "I should have known you'd jump at the opportunity to terrorize my assistant!" He grabbed Molly's arm and pulled her up from her chair.

"'Terrorize' is entirely inappropriate word choice, brother. I was merely filling Molly in on a few things." Mycroft replied. Sherlock shot him an angry glare before dragging the healer out of the room.

"Don't listen to my brother, Molly, whatever he may have said to you. He just likes poking around in my business." the wizard told her firmly. They walked through the palace halls for some time in silence. Only after he seemed to have calmed down did Molly dare speak.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"I'm taking you to meet the royal physician, Michael. I'm sure he has things you can help him with to keep you out of trouble while I complete my boring, but unfortunately necessary duties as a knight." This earned him a scowl from Molly and he couldn't help but give a small smirk in return.


	6. The Rift

Michael was a cheery, kind man as it turned out. The longer Molly worked with him, the more she grew to like him. He asked her to help him prepare medicine and deliver it to his patients. She was all too happy to help and it kept her mind off Sir Sherlock and the words of his brother. It felt as if there was a great weight resting on her heart now that she faced a dilemma. What was she supposed to do? Do as Sir Mycroft had asked and defy her colleague by looking for a way to break the curse, or listen to Sir Sherlock and do nothing? The young healer hadn't the slightest clue which was the best choice.

"You look troubled, dear. Is something the matter?" Molly was shaken from her thoughts when the old woman she was bringing medicine spoke up.

"Oh, it's nothing, Lady Hudson. Here's your draught from Michael." the healer replied, handing Lady Hudson a bottle full of murky green liquid.

"Why don't you come in a moment and I'll make you some tea." She gestured for Molly to come inside her home. The brunette was about to insist that she was fine, but Lady Hudson's kind, motherly gaze made her give in.

"Alright." The healer entered the old woman's chambers and sat in the seat at the table that was designated for her.

"So you're the lovely young woman Sherlock has been mentioning. I'm so happy to see he's finally got someone. I always worried about him being all alone in his castle." Lady Hudson said as she prepared the tea. Molly's cheeks turned bright red at her words.

"We're...we're not..." she struggled to respond coherently. "Hold on...you know Sir Sherlock?"

"Of course. I looked after both Sherlock and Mycroft when they were very young." the old woman explained with a warm smile.

"But...you're not their mother?"

"No, but I've always thought of them as my own. They turned up here a little while after that dreadful business with their parents and I took them in. Poor Mycroft had been trying to look after his little brother all alone. I couldn't just turn away a pair of starving boys." Lady Hudson paused before adding, "I'm sorry. I'm rambling."

"No, no. It's fine. What happened to their parents?" Molly was very curious about Sherlock's past. Perhaps the knowledge would help her understand him better.

"I thought you'd know. You're one of their people, aren't you?" So Lady Hudson did know about that. This would make things a lot easier.

"I didn't get a chance to learn much about my own people until now." the young woman said simply, not feeling like going into details as to why that was.

"Well, the boys are from the House of Holmes, the last royal bloodline of the Old Ways. Their parents were king and queen to your kind until they were captured and burned in the last purge. I don't really know much more than that, I'm sorry. I know the boys don't like talking about it. Particularly about their father. Maybe you can find out more in books." Molly's brown orbs grew wide as she listened to Lady Hudson tell her these things. A burning eagerness to know more gnawed away at the back of her mind.

"So they are...princes? That explains a lot." It certainly did. Molly finally knew who the old beggar woman had been talking about the day before. She also understood why the dragon had called him 'Raven Prince'.

"Hm, yes. Sherlock's the Crown Prince, but neither he nor his brother will tell me why...are you alright, Molly dear? You look a bit peaky." Lady Hudson noticed that the young healer didn't look to well. Molly was having trouble taking in the meaning of everything she had just learnt. Sir Sherlock was Crown Prince of the Old Ways? Why had he never told her? That was definitely something his assistant aught to know- his assistant who lived with him and took care of him for an entire winter. Molly's head began to hurt with the rush of realizations that were coming to her.

"I-I'm fine. I just...he never said a word to me."

"Don't worry, dear. He's never liked the idea of people treating him as royalty. Here, have some tea. It'll make you feel better." Lady Hudson replied, handing Molly a cup of tea. The healer gave her a small smile in return and sipped at the drink. They sat in silence for a while until Molly finished her tea and then she stood, giving Lady Hudson a little bow.

"Thanks for everything. I must be getting back now. Michael will be worried." she said as she slung her satchel over her shoulder. Just as she reached the door, the old woman called her name and she looked back.

"It was my pleasure, Molly. Come visit anytime you like. And look after Sherlock for me. He's always getting into trouble."

"I will. No need to worry." At that, Molly left with more questions in her mind than when she had arrived. Her feet carried her back to Michael's chambers, though her thoughts were very much elsewhere.

* * *

When Sir Sherlock came to get Molly, he knew just by looking at her that she had met Lady Hudson. If she hadn't known better, the healer would have thought his reaction was one of embarrassment. She could have sworn she saw his face get a little pink when he asked her what the old woman had said about him. Molly decided to play it safe and only told him that Lady Hudson felt he was like a son to her. He rolled his eyes when she gave him a warm smile.

When they retired for the night after Sherlock had insisted they spend the rest of the day doing experiments with dragon blood, Molly sat once again by the window in her chamber, this time gazing up at the moon. To put it mildly, she was troubled, and she greatly wished that someone would help her decide what she should do with the pendant that hung so heavily around her neck.

"Hello, little Molly," came an all too familiar voice from the corner of the room. The healer gasped and looked over. There stood The Woman, a very pleased expression on her face. She held a tall, black staff in one hand that was topped by a purple jewel at the base of which sprouted three, whip-like tendrils of leather. The healer eyed it nervously.

"W-What are you doing here?" Molly demanded, suddenly very on edge.

"Because you called me, of course."

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did. Approximately five minutes ago, I looked in the waters of my scrying bowl. I saw you muttering and I quote 'I wish I could ask Lady Eagle why she gave me this burden.' So, here I am." Irene explained with a smirk. "I gave the soul shard to you because I like playing both sides and keeping my options open. If I'm right about you and you are the one who can break the curse, then dear Prince Sherlock will become whole again and be able to claim the throne of our people. Whether or not he'll be up for it is another matter, but if he keeps his head, it will be very entertaining to see him clash with Moriarty."

"His brother...told me my fate is closely tied to him...and that I should break the curse. I think...now that I know what's really going on...if I want to do what's right by the kingdom and follow my heart...then I have no choice. Will you tell me how to undo the spell?" Molly spoke slowly, trying very hard to be coherent whilst sifting through her racing thoughts. A grin spread across the sorceress' lips before she answered.

"That is something I cannot tell you, unfortunately. If you are indeed who I believe you to be, then the soul shard will tell you what to do once you ask him nicely."

"There you go again, saying you think I'm someone important. Everyone seems to think I'm someone important these days. Who? Who do you think I am that is so significant? I'm  _nobody_! Prince Sherlock took me in for no other reason than because I'm convenient to him! I'm not some special woman who can change the course of history!" Molly found a bit of rage rise up from inside her for the first time in a long while. The burn of tears threatened to surface in her eyes and she blinked furiously to try to get the sensation to go away. She would not cry in front of this sorceress.

"Ah, such humbleness. I'm sure of my estimate now. Contrary to what you believe, you are very significant, little Molly. You're dear Sherlock's other half." With that, Irene vanished and Molly started finding it hard to breathe. She passed out for a few minutes and when she came to, she could think clearly again and knew what she had to do. She held the pendant in her hands and whispered to it in the ancient tongue.

"Please show me the way." Nothing happened. She tried again and again, but there was no result. Eventually, the healer gave up and fell asleep.

* * *

_Molly dreamt of a beautiful green forest on a sunny morning. She could smell mint and a few other herbs on the air. It made her feel happy and at home._

_"Is that really you, Molly? Of course it's you. Why else would you be here? My goodness, you are the loveliest woman I've ever seen. I'm a lucky man." the voice of an adolescent boy called. It sounded oddly familiar and when Molly's gaze turned upwards in search of its source, she immediately realized why. Sitting in a tree not far from her, looking down at her with piercing blue eyes, was a pale teenager sporting black curls atop his head and sharp facial features that Molly would recognize anywhere. It was a younger Sherlock. The smile he was giving her was one she'd never seen before and it made her heart melt to know it was for her. "I bet I gave you that gown. I always did have good taste. It's nice to see I'm not completely helpless without this part of me. I do hope I haven't been totally horrible to you. I can be such a clot," he said as he jumped down from his perch in the tree, landing gracefully on his feet in front of her._

_"Well, you are rather rude." Molly admitted, unable to help smiling as she spoke. He seemed genuinely bothered by this news and he took her hand to kiss it. The healer turned very pink._

_"I'm sincerely sorry for that, my dear lady. You deserve so much better." he apologized. Molly felt strange seeing a young man who was such a perfect gentleman and yet had the face of the coldhearted wizard she knew so well (Or did she really know him that well? She wasn't so sure anymore.)_

_"Are you the shard of Prince Sherlock's soul?" she asked._

_"Indeed. I am the heart you've never gotten to meet before now. You've finally come to set me free and I've never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life." He entwined his fingers with hers and they began walking through the forest._

_"I'm glad to help. You're needed. Not just for your sake. For everyone's."_

_"It's clear to me why you complete me. You are kind and intelligent and loyal. You are the light at the end of the darkness I've known for so long."_

_"I must be dreaming. You're too good to be true." Molly replied as they came to a clearing full of tall grass. Sherlock laughed. It was a rich, warm sound that resonated slightly in the healer's body and made her heart race._

_"Well, technically you are dreaming. You're just dreaming about me because you asked for help. I assure you I'm quite real in the sense that I am the little light inside your pendant." the young man explained as they lay down in the grass side by side, looking up at the clear blue sky._

_"Yes, how do I break the curse?"_

_"That's really quite easy. My chains were created with blood. They must be broken as if one is healing a wound and what are you so very brilliant at? Healing wounds. Use your powers on my vessel and I will be set free."_

_"Will you be like this once you're whole again?"_

_"No, unfortunately not. If I know my mind as well as I think I do, I'll be very much like I've always been. I can't promise you love making by candlelight, but I can promise you that I'll be inside, always fighting for you." There was a sadness in his eyes as he said this that disappeared when he continued. "One day, if everything remains as it should be and the time is right, I will be able to express my feelings to you."_

_"I shall wait patiently by your side until then."_

_"I know. That's one of the reasons I like you so much." A grin graced Sherlock's lips as he turned to look at her. "Good luck."_

* * *

Molly's eyes shot open and she remembered some of her dream. She remembered that Sherlock had said she was beautiful and told her how to lift the spell on him. Without further hesitation, the healer grasped the pendant in both hands and a green glow appeared. When it faded, Molly discovered that the fiery light was gone from the obsidian shape. The weight she had felt ever since the item had come into her possession was now gone. It gave her a sense of relief as she began preparing herself for the new day.

Three hours later, Sherlock burst into her chamber without warning, clutching his chest and looking livid.

"What have you done!?" he growled as he strode right up to her. He sounded like he was having difficulty breathing.

"W-what!?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Molly! I awoke this morning feeling as if there was a large weight on my chest. At first I thought I was coming down with a strange disease, but no, my curse seal is gone and that can mean only one thing: you did precisely what I told you explicitly not to! If I didn't know better, I'd say you are a selfish woman! In any case, you are incredibly stupid! Mycroft talked you into doing it, didn't he?" The raven haired man was truly and properly angry and it was terrifying. Molly began to tremble.

"I'm sorry, sire! I just-" she started, but Sherlock stopped her.

"What did you just call me!?" It felt like his blue gaze was boring into her soul and she couldn't bring herself to reply. "Never.  _Ever_. Call me 'sire' again, do you understand?"

"Why? Why do you run from who you are?" Molly found herself saying. She'd reached her limit of being treated this way. It was time for her to push back. A brief flash of surprise came across Sherlock's features at her words.

"I have no desire to be a ruler. I don't want people kissing my boots just because either they think I'll punish them if they don't or they want some sort of favor. Being a leader is messy and boring and liable to get you killed. Isn't that obvious!"

"Yes, it is, and it takes a brave person to accept those things and do what is necessary for the good of everyone. I guess that makes you a coward, Sherlock Holmes." This hit a raw nerve with the man and his lip twitched in anger.

"The weakness is with you for letting Mycroft so fully bend you to his will. I should have known you were easily corrupted. If I had realized sooner, I never would have taken you with me!" These words felt like a blade to the gut. What Molly had heard with that last sentence was "I wish I'd left you to die when the dragon attacked your town." and that hurt more than anything anyone had ever said to her. Fortunately, she was strong and kept herself together long enough to deliver her verbal blow.

"I did what I did because there are things in this world more important than you and your need to hide from responsibility! I did it because I'm tired of being treated like a servant even though you say I'm free and deserving of respect and maybe if you were able to show an ounce of compassion, you'd see how inexcusably horrid you've been!" Sherlock's face went completely blank at Molly's outburst and he took a step back.

"Is that all?" he inquired flatly.

"Since you think of me as nothing more than a broken tool, you shouldn't have saved me during the dragon attack."

"I see." Sherlock replied quietly. His expression had changed, but Molly couldn't see what emotion it conveyed. She refused to let herself believe it was guilt. Sherlock Holmes didn't feel guilt. Before anything else could be said, the wizard turned on his heel and strode out of the room. With him gone, Molly finally broke down and cried harder than she had in many years.

* * *

Later that morning, Molly received news that an army was attacking the southern border of the kingdom and they had already taken a few villages. This meant that King Gregory would put together a force of his own to answer which included Sherlock and the other knights. The healer watched from her window as the soldiers gathered in the square below. She could spot Sherlock's raven curls in the crowd of metal and leather. It was strange seeing him in heavy armor, even without a helmet. She could hear his voice in her head complaining about how helmets limited his vision. It made her want to cry again. She was so ashamed of what she'd said to him earlier, even after she tried to tell herself that he deserved every word she'd uttered. Now he was going off to fight and there was a chance that those words were the last he'd ever hear from her. That thoroughly broke her heart (not that it wasn't already in a thousand pieces).

As she watched him mount his horse, Molly could have sworn she saw him look up toward her window. Just then, a raven flew into her room and dropped something on her desk before flying out again. The brunette quickly picked it up to find it was a neatly folded letter, sealed with blue wax and addressed to her in Sherlock's scrawl. She hastily opened it to find much more of the wizard's writing which read:

_Dear Molly,_

_There was some truth in the things you said to me, but you were wrong about one thing. When I said I never would have taken you with me, I meant to the capital city. I do not, nor will I ever regret saving you from the dragon. You are not a broken tool. You are an unfortunately misled woman. My harshness with you on the matter was due to the sudden change in my emotional state brought about by the lifting of my curse._

_I will understand if you wish to leave and never see me again. However, if you choose to forgive me and remain, Lady Hudson wants me to tell you that she would be honored to have you stay in her home while I'm away._

_Sincerely,_

_Sir Sherlock of Holmes_

As she read, Molly felt tears threaten to spill from the corners of her eyes again. She didn't know whether they were out of sadness or happiness. It was probably a mixture of both.

The urge to run down to the square and tell him how she felt grew strong inside her, but it was too late. She could already see the warriors marching to the gates. As quickly as she could, Molly rushed out of the palace, only stopping to grab a pinch of soil on the way. When she was sure no one was looking, she used magic to turn the soil into a beautiful camellia flower.

Weaving her way through the crowd of people tossing and giving flowers to the soldiers, the healer didn't stop until she could reach Sherlock. Molly called to him and his head abruptly turned toward her. A grin instantly graced his lips and she extended her flower up to him. He quirked an eyebrow at her and for a moment, she was sure he would reject her sentimental display, but then he took the gift and tucked it into his belt before riding away. As she watched him go, Molly hoped with all her heart that he would come back to her and things would be better between them.


	7. An Enemy Within

Many months went by without word from Sherlock. According to King Gregory, the army was trying desperately to hold against the invaders but he really didn't know much more than that. The people grew restless and worried for their soldiers. Some said that if they had not repelled the attackers and come home already, then they never would and the kingdom was doomed. Molly, however, kept her faith and carried on.

She worked with Michael during the day and at night, she poured over the many books of the royal library. One time, she found the records of investigations and burnings from the last purge. A particular set of entries caught her attention:

_We have captured the leader of our enemy- Evander of Holmes. He has given us the names and locations of several of his kind in exchange for his life. As soon as we apprehend the first on his list- his queen, Velda of Holmes, they are to be tied together in the square and burned for sorcery._

_We captured Velda of Holmes. She and her husband were executed this morning. After questioning from Prince Gregory, their sons were determined to have no great knowledge of magic and were therefore set free._

Now Molly knew why Sherlock had reacted so strongly when she'd thought him a sorcerer. His father had been one and had betrayed Sherlock's mother as well as the rest of their kind. Molly's heart ached with empathy for the knight. She wished she could tell him that her own mother had been burned too and her father had suffered a downward spiral into a pit of despair from which he had never returned. She had been left an orphan just as he had, though she'd never had anyone like an elder sibling or Lady Hudson to take care of her. It was possible that he already knew and that was why he'd so willingly taken her in.

The healer could also see now why Sherlock followed the king. Gregory had spared Sherlock and Mycroft's lives at the risk of his own neck and given them a place in his court upon being crowned head of state. Molly began to truly think of King Gregory as an honorable, kind, and worthy leader. She only wished that he could tell her for certain that her beloved colleague was alive and would return home soon.

* * *

"You look troubled, my dear. Can I be of assistance?" a lilting male voice came from behind Molly as she sat in a secluded corner of the royal library. She looked up in surprise to see a smiling young man with big dark eyes and a quiet demeanor.

"Oh, no, it's fine...I was just, um...reading." the healer replied nervously.

"Perhaps the subject you were studying was somewhat distressing. Do you mind if I ask what it was?" Molly panicked at this question. How was she suppose to tell this man she was studying curses? She gaped at him for a moment until he spoke again. "It's alright, I know you're reading about curses, Molly. I just thought it would be polite to inquire."

"H-How do you know what I'm reading? How do you know what my name is?" The brunette was frightened now and visibly so, but the man just laughed.

"I'm Sir James of Brooke, Son of Richard. All the knights know who you are. You're Sir Sherlock's shy maiden. I, however, am the only knight privy to the fact that you and he are magic folk. Don't be frightened. I am of the Old Ways as well." he explained.

"If you're a knight, then why aren't you off fighting?"

"I am one of the three who stayed behind to maintain the city's defenses. Someone's got to and besides, I'm not really into honor and glory and all that. I'm less of a fighter, more of a commander."

"That makes perfect sense. Are you and Sir Sherlock friends? You must be if you are the only two magic folk among the knights." Molly was smiling now. This Sir James fellow seemed like a nice man and she felt like she could be herself around him.

"I think the word that best describes our relationship is rivalry. We can't exactly be friends seeing as we differ greatly in opinion on a number of things. For instance, he doesn't approve of my being a sorcerer." The healer let out a gasp and this, terrified. Then she remembered how helpful Irene had been when she'd needed her assistance and decided that perhaps she should give James a chance. "Really, I don't see why that is such a big issue. Why shouldn't I use implements? It just means that I don't have to put so much effort into harnessing raw energy with my body. I can just use a staff or something and boom, instant, non-draining power that can be modified to be stronger than that produced by flesh efforts."

"That also makes perfect sense."

"See? Nothing to be scared of." the sorcerer replied with a charming smirk. In the following days, Sir James befriended Molly and she finally had someone like her to talk to in Sir Sherlock's absence. James was sweet and a little flirtatious, not to mention very intelligent. He spent a lot of time with her, but sometimes had to be called away on knight's business. It was on one such occasion when Sherlock returned.

* * *

Molly crossed the square as she went around picking up fresh ingredients for Michael, but stopped midway when she heard bells. Her eyes widened and she rushed down a street towards the city gates. She could hear men shouting urgently for the gates to be opened. When they did, she was not greeted by the expected sight of an army, but by a horse and two badly injured men, one of whom she instantly recognized.

"Get out of my way!" the healer cried, dropping her basket and sprinting toward the new arrivals. In moments, she was kneeling next to an unconscious, heavily wounded Sherlock who appeared to have fallen off his horse and been dragged by the ankle for miles. The other man seemed to be suffering a similar plight. Molly reached out and brushed the raven locks out of Sherlock's face before gingerly pulling him into her arms. He would need to be moved before she could do anything for him and that was something she could not do alone. "Help! Somebody help! Please!" she called desperately. Guards came rushing over to her and the two unconscious men, helping her get them to the palace. Sherlock and the blond man were lain upon a pair of beds and Molly immediately set to work trying to save them. She demanded that Michael be sent for and that someone bring her a large bowl of water and some clean cloths. Once she had people on those tasks, she ordered everyone else to leave. In the temporary peace and privacy, the healer used her medicinal magic skills to mend her patients' wounds and broken bones. "Come on. Don't give up on me." she pleaded, feeling the faint beat of Sherlock's heart. He'd lost a lot of blood and he had a magical poison in his veins, working slowly to kill him. From the nature of his injuries, she could only guess that it was a dragon that had done this to him.

The blond was not much better off, though most of his injuries were from blunt force. Molly just barely had time to heal his ribs before a servant boy appeared holding a large wooden bowl of water and a bundle of white cloths. She directed him to place them on the nearby table and he obeyed. She smiled sadly at him when she caught him staring at her colleague's battered form.

"Will Sir Sherlock make it?" he asked shyly. "Are you powerful enough to heal him?" At this, Molly realized that the boy knew she was a special kind of healer. Somehow, that didn't scare her. She knew she'd seen this boy somewhere before, but now she remembered that this was one of the people she'd witnessed Sherlock giving coins to when they'd first come to the capital city. They must know each other.

"I'll give my life if I have to in order to save him, but I don't think that will be necessary." she told the boy, whose eyes immediately went wide. "What's your name?"

"Wiggins, my lady." Molly's eyes narrowed at his calling her 'my lady'. She wasn't nobility.

"Why are you so concerned for a nobleman, Wiggins?"

"Sir Sherlock looks out for our sort. Protects us when he sees us in trouble. Sometimes gives us money or food."

"Our sort?"

"Orphans of magic folk. A lot of us are beggars." Molly understood now. She remembered Sherlock saying something at some point about having eyes and ears all over the city and now it was clear exactly what he meant. He was more of a leader than he realized. No doubt many of these beggars knew exactly who he was and considered themselves his subjects. Perhaps the magic folk who knew of her called her a lady because of her role in Sir Sherlock's destiny.

"I see. Would you like to help me?"

"I'd be honored, my lady." Wiggins replied with a grin. Molly immediately set him to work monitoring the door for the sound of approaching footsteps. It would not do to have Michael and some guards walk in on her performing magic. Once she'd mended all the broken bones and closed all the lacerations, the healer began to clean away the dirt, sweat, and blood. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about Sherlock's poisoning until Michael arrived with his herbs and elixirs. "You really are powerful." Wiggins commented, breaking the long held silence in the room. "Old Eleanor was right. You must be the woman who will make Prince Sherlock the man he was born to be and heal the land."

"You're not the first to say something like that."

"I know." Just then, the door flew open and Michael appeared, two guards behind him. He carried a leather satchel which he set on the table next to the bowl of water.

"How bad is it?" the physician asked, kneeling beside Sherlock's bed.

"If we don't do something soon, he'll die of poisoning."

"What poisoned him?"

"The talons of a dragon." At this, Michael looked shocked and anxious. The situation was indeed far more dire than he had anticipated. He gestured for Molly to help herself to his supplies and she didn't hesitate. Taking out his mortar and pestle, she hastily yet precisely ground together everything she would need to make an antidote for the dragon's poison (all that reading was paying off), save for one essential element, which she needed to add without Michael's anxious gaze upon her. "Michael, would you mind looking over that other man for me and make sure I didn't miss any potentially life threatening injuries?"

"His name is John and of course. Whatever you need." Michael had always been respectful of her medical skills, even though he was the royal physician and anyone else would have let that go to his head by now. It was one of the things Molly liked about him.

"You know him?"

"Yes. We were apprenticed to the same physician."

"He's a healer? What was he doing going off into battle?"

"He always wanted to fight for the kingdom and said he'd be particularly useful because he's damn good with both a sword and a bow and he'd be able to save wounded men." Michael explained, a single, slightly sad chuckle escaping him. Molly gave him an understanding nodded before they turned away from each other to work. The woman whispered words of power softly into the mixture she'd made and it glowed green for a moment before liquifying. Placing her hand underneath Sherlock's head, she carefully tipped the potion into his mouth. Once she was sure he had swallowed, she waited anxiously for his breathing to return to normal. She lay her ear against his chest and listened to his breaths become less and less desperate. His heartbeat grew strong and regular.

"Hello, Molly." A smooth baritone resonated through the chest below her and the vibrations sent a chill down her spine. She immediately sat up to see that Sherlock's blue eyes were half open. When he'd spoken, it had really been soft and raspy, but because of Molly's position, it had sounded like the gods calling to her from the depths of the earth.

"H-Hello!" she gasped before giving the man a teary smile. "You're going to be alright."

"John?" He was now looking over at the blond in the next bed.

"He'll be fine too. He wasn't as severely injured as you."

"Good." Sherlock seemed to relax significantly at this news.

"What happened to you?"

"They had dragons, Molly. Of the men that I led, John and I are the only ones to survive the battle. We probably both would have died as well if John hadn't saved my life."

"What about the other knights and their men?"

"I do not know. If they have not yet returned, I fear this kingdom may be without an army." The healer gasped at this, but quickly regained her composure.

"Right. We best get you back on your feet as soon as possible, then. Without our best knight, we're doomed." A smirk appeared on Sir Sherlock's features at these words. "Shall I arrange for you to be moved to your chambers?"

"Yes, please. And while you're at it, make sure John gets knighted. Tell Gregory I don't give a damn that he's not of noble blood. If he doesn't knight him, I still will."

* * *

"By the powers invested in me as the king of this land, I proclaim thee a knight of the realm. Arise, Sir John." King Gregory said as he placed his sword on either side of John's shoulders before allowing the man to stand up from his kneeling position. The audience clapped happily and the blond beamed, glancing over at Sir Sherlock and Molly, who were both grinning. After the ceremony, he went with them back to Lady Hudson's place. John was settling nicely into his new home and he got along very well with the women. Lady Hudson treated him like a mother would treat her son's best friend. He really liked Molly. She understood the concerns of a healer and was the sweetest, kindest young woman he'd ever met. For the briefest moment, he had considered courting her, but then he saw her interact with Sherlock and smiled knowingly. Even a fool could see there was something special between his two friends. He knew they shared a bond that he dared not try to break. He suspected it was partly to do with magic. Oh yes, he knew about their little secret, but he had nothing against the Old Ways, being half magical himself. They both knew they could trust him.

"John, you should know that I'm knighting you too." Sherlock mentioned as they sat by the fireplace in Lady Hudson's sitting room, warming themselves after walking through the cold night (there was a slight chill in the air that whispered of a fast approaching autumn). The healer come knight nearly spat out his drink at Sherlock's words.

"I'm sorry, what?" he spluttered. Molly gave him a sympathetic look.

"Well, er, amongst our sort, he's not Sir Sherlock, he's, ehm, the Crown Prince Sherlock Holmes." the young woman explained tentatively, glancing at her dark haired colleague to measure how much displeasure he was certainly going to show at her words. Surprisingly, Sherlock gave a smirk.

"And neither of you thought to tell me this earlier, why?"

"It hardly matters. Now, magical knighting ritual is different than the ordinary way and it can't be performed here. You'll be coming with us to Holmes Castle soon and then you'll be made Sir John, Captain of the Royal Guard and Defender of the Old Ways. You'll have to choose a magical name and everything. It'll be a lot more meaningful than the dull ceremony you took part in today." the wizard drawled and John almost choked on his drink again.

"Hold on a moment. Don't I have to be a wizard or something for you to be able to knight me?"

"You were raised without magic, but you're half-blood and that half is strong. With the proper tutelage and some time, I think we could make you the first Storm Captain in nearly a century."

"Storm Captain?" John inquired, looking confused. He didn't know very much at all about the culture of magic folk. His father hadn't lived long enough to tell him about them.

"The Storm Guard is a group of elite wizard knights. They are the defenders of the House of Holmes and can only wield magic through their weapons and armor. The Storm Captain is their commander."

"That's sounds like, um, quite an honor." John appeared to be nervous for a second, but then he became rather chuffed. Sherlock rolled his eyes and Molly giggled.

"Don't let it go to your head. I'm just rewarding you on behalf of our people for saving my life."

"If Sir John becomes a Storm Captain, how many more wizards and witches will you need to restore the Order of Diogenes?" Molly spoke up. She knew all about the history and government of magic folk now. She hadn't been idle in Sherlock's absence. The wizard stared at her for a moment and she could tell he was thinking about his options for a reply. He seemed reluctant to acknowledge the issue she addressed, but nevertheless graced her with an answer.

"There are seven in the Order. If John takes the place I am offering him, the total number of open positions will become three. The filled ones are as follows: I, obviously, am the heir, Mycroft is the seer, John is the knight, and you, Molly, are the healer."

"M-Me?"

"Naturally. Stop being so sickeningly humble and accept that you're the best healer of the century. I wouldn't be alive if that weren't true."

"A-A-Alright." the brunette stammered, blushing brightly.

"Now, that leaves us in need of an enchanter, a bard, and a beast master. I know a sort of enchantress, but you've met her and she signed away her right to belong to the Order a long time ago by becoming a sorceress. A trustworthy bard is hard to come by these days. Beast masters all but died out in the last purge. If there are any left, they are deep in hiding. Quite rightly. Lord Frankland gives a handsome reward to any who bring him a beast master. The last I heard, he'd paid someone for presenting him with one of the last beast masters' sons. Before the poor boy escaped, he was tortured. It's unlikely he's still alive." A sudden look of disgust and anger came across Sherlock's face as he thought of the injustice and cruelty inflicted on that innocent boy. "In any case, the Order of Diogenes is, in all probability, never going to be restored." He made his point before falling silent for the rest of the evening, deep in thought.

* * *

Molly knew that the winds were changing, but she never realized how quickly the coin would drop until Sir Sherlock found her in the library, chatting with Sir James, who had become particularly flirtatious as of late as well as increasingly scarce.

"Molly, get away from him." the wizard growled and the pair looked up at him.

"My, my, so possessive."

"Molly, he's dangerous. Step away  _now_."

"Aw, is that any way to treat an old friend? Congratulations, by the way. Looks like you finally found me out. I'm glad to see you made it back home, Sherly. Did you like that I made it a bit more challenging this time? It doesn't matter. You cheated. You got your friends to help you." Suddenly, James had his arm around Molly's shoulders and the tip of a black wand pressed against her temple. "Molly is ever so useful, isn't she? I can see why you enjoy having her as your thrall."

"She's not my thrall. Release her, Moriarty."

"Or what? I'm holding all the cards and I think I'd like to keep this sweet little thing." the sorcerer replied with a crazed grin.

"Don't count your chickens before they've hatched." With these words came the sound of an arrow speeding through the air and Molly gasping.


	8. A Monster Inside

Moriarty's hand flew up at the sound of the arrow to catch it in midair, just before it would have reached his head. As a result, he had to release Molly. She stumbled to the floor and over her head, streams of blue and sickly yellow fire clashed brightly. There was a lot of shouting and then suddenly it was quiet.

"He's gone." Sherlock growled before pulling the healer up by her arm. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." she answered, sounding rather shaken. John appeared, holding a bow.

"What happened? Where did he go?"

"He used some very dangerous sorcery to move along the Shade, effectively allowing him to teleport." Sherlock explained with a grimace. "He could be anywhere now."

"What do we do?" Molly asked, pushing aside her shock from so suddenly discovery that Sir James was Moriarty and had tried to kidnap her.

"There's nothing we can do now except tell the king of what we know and wait for our enemy's next move."

"Do you have any idea what he's going to do?" Sherlock didn't reply to this question and stalked out of the library, his two friends hurrying to keep up with him. What felt like moments later, the three were bursting into the throne room. Gregory jumped at their entrance. He appeared to have been in the middle of a conversation with Dame Sally and the Son of Ander (Sherlock refused to call the knight by his given name). They had been reporting the miraculous return of the kingdom's army.

"Whatever the Dunderhead Duo have to say to you is less important than my healer being attacked by Sir James." the wizard announced and the objections on their tongues died before they could get them out.

"What!? Molly, is this true?" Gregory demanded.

"Yes, sire."

"He attempted to seduce her, threatened her when I intervened, and attacked both of us with magic. Sir John also intervened, but James used sorcery to escape. He's the one we've been looking for." The king gaped at these words. The other two knights glared.

"Do you have proof of this, Freak?" Dame Sally inquired sternly. Molly immediately looked at the other woman, shocked at how she had addressed Sherlock. She was about to say something when she felt the wizard's long fingers grip her shoulder quite firmly.

"It's not worth it, Molly." he muttered to her and she nodded. He released his hold on her and turned his attention back to the king. "There is an indentation in the skin of Molly's right temple. It is the mark of the tip of a wand being pressed against her head. James' wand."

"Leave us." King Gregory commanded, gesturing for Sally and Ander's Son to leave. They grudgingly complied. "So, Sir James is Moriarty. This is very troubling. Very troubling indeed. I hope you realize that since Dame Sally heard your accusation, she is going to go straight to the council. They will send for a hunter and none of your kind will be remotely safe any longer. Now that the rest of my soldiers have returned, it will be difficult for you to run."

"I am fully aware of that, but it is far better than the alternative. We must act quickly. We haven't much time. Unfortunately, there is little you can do for us except stall the council. If all goes according to plan, we will have most of the magic folk out of this city by nightfall." Sherlock replied, all business. "Molly, my dear brother seems to like you. Why don't you go have a chat with him about our situation? I'm sure with the amount of scrying he gets up to, he'll know what's happening by now. Don't speak with anyone on your way. Go." he addressed the brunette woman beside him. She gave him a curt nod in reply and set off in the direction of Sir Mycroft's chambers. Her pace was hurried and as she went through the corridors, those she passed whispered fearful things about a sorcerer in the castle. Word seemed to travel fast because Molly could already hear people muttering about witch hunters. She grew even more anxious to find Mycroft. She could trust him and there was greater safety in numbers. Unfortunately, Molly never reached her destination because a tall, blond man came out of seemingly nowhere and grabbed her around the waist. She fought back, but she was no match for such a large man without any knowledge of harmful spells or weapons on hand with which to defend herself. He knocked her unconscious and carried her out into the palace courtyard for all to see.

"I have captured a sorceress!" he announced, grabbing the attention of everyone who heard him. "She and those she serves have been plotting against the king and his loyal knights. She has framed Sir James for the crime of sorcery, but she is the real criminal. Let me prove it to you." The man lay Molly upon the ground and took a vial from his belt and sprinkled the liquid over her. People gasped in horror as intricate green marks appeared on her skin, marks that everyone knew to be the reveal of magic folk. Guards rushed into the courtyard with armfuls of wood and began preparing a pyre on which to burn Molly. The hunter knelt down to tie her up, but he was interrupted by the appearance of Sir Sherlock, who was striding very quickly toward him, moving to draw his sword. The blond whipped out a knife and without even pausing or warning or threatening, he plunged the blade into Molly's shoulder. A cry of agony ripped from Sherlock's throat and he fell to his knees, clutching at his chest. His body began to change. Enormous, dark feathered wings sprouted from his back. His teeth grew sharp and his hands and feet became talon like. His ears elongated into points. The pupils of his eyes morphed into reptilian slits and his skin turned an inky black that became littered with glowing blue markings. Many of the people in the courtyard screamed and chaos erupted. The creature that had taken Sherlock's place pounced at the hunter, knocking many guards out of his path with such strength that they were flung into walls.

"GET AWAY!" the creature roared. The sound was a man's voice but there was a layer to it that went far beyond human. With an unearthly shriek, he lunged for the hunter, intent upon ripping him to shreds. He struck the blond across the face, leaving four long, deep cuts. They grappled, but the hunter could not handle monstrous strength and was thrown across the courtyard. The creature gathered Molly up in his arms and took flight.

* * *

Not too far from the city, John found Sherlock crouching by the bank of a river, still in the form of a dark, winged beast. An injured Molly lay tucked under his wing with his palm pressed over her wound to stop her bleeding. John made to approach, but Sherlock growled at him threateningly, which made him realize that his friend didn't recognize him in this state.

"It's okay, Sherlock. It's okay. It's me. It's John. I can help Molly. I just want to help her. That's all." John slowly walked forward, holding his arms up in a submissive gesture. This apparently was not enough, because Sherlock made more threatening noises, baring his teeth angrily. John cast away his sword and resumed his submissive stance. "Please. It's alright. I don't want to hurt either of you. Just let me tend to Molly. If you don't, she might die. Please." he begged, still approaching slowly. He made eye contact with the creature. "I know you're in there, Sherlock. You know who I am. You know I can save her." On some level, Sherlock must have understood, because his anger was replaced with anxiety. He lifted his wing to fully reveal Molly and allowed John to come close. A whine escaped him and an expression of deep worry came across his face. "We are very lucky that Molly taught me how to close wounds with magic. Otherwise, I wouldn't have the necessary tools to heal her." Gently, he moved Sherlock's talon-hand away from Molly's wound and replaced it with his own. A soft, golden glow appeared under his palm. His brow furrowed with the intensity of his concentration. The bleeding stopped and with great effort, John was able to slowly heal the wound. "There. I'm not as good as she is. There'll be a scar and she'll take a while to recover from the blood loss and other effects, but in time, she'll be perfectly alright." He then slowly backed away to allow Sherlock to resume his protective stance.

* * *

By nightfall, John had set up camp near the river bank, far enough from Sherlock to give him space, but close enough to keep an eye on both his and Molly's condition. The young woman had yet to wake and the Sherlock creature still lay curled around her protectively, both blue orbs open and alert. He got John's attention when he emitted a threatening snarl at something in the trees. The knight stood up and drew his sword only to sheathe it again when the threat turned out to be Mycroft and his apprentice. Sherlock's growling grew louder and more ferocious the closer they got. Mycroft took from his pocket a sapphire amulet covered in markings similar to those on his brother's skin and allowed it to sway back and forth from its string. It had a calming effect on Sherlock and he grew quiet.

"This is a very unfortunate turn of events." Mycroft told John with a frown, moving to sit with him by the fire. John raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "It's starting."

"What's starting?"

"The new war. We're already losing and there's nothing we can do to change that until Sherlock has calmed down."

"What's going on with him? Why has he turned into...whatever that is?" At this, Mycroft let out the sigh of a person who is about to tell a long story.

"Herein lies the reason that Sherlock is the crown prince and I am not, though I am the older brother. When we were very young and the last purge was taking place, our parents were burned, which being who they were, caused the end of freedom for our people. The moment our mother died, something was passed to Sherlock. This something is known to most as the Raven's Will. It is a demon bound to serve the Holmes family for eternity. It would have died with our mother, but it latched onto Sherlock's strong emotions at the last moment and transferred itself to him to take up residence in his heart.

"He had an immense amount of difficulty controlling it as a boy because he has such intense feelings. I still have scars from restraining him and I'm honestly lucky to be alive. As a child, he was already capable of razing whole villages and it is a testament to my brother's strength of will that no one has ever died as a result of his demonic powers. Eventually, he learned some control, but he achieved peace by isolating himself. This only ended when he took an opportunity to allow the sorceress Irene to seal away his heart and with it, the demon. He felt freed, both from the creature that disrupted his ability to function as a rational being and the burden of being the heir to the throne."

"Wait, so the Raven's Will being bound to him is what makes him the heir?" John asked with a frown and Mycroft nodded.

"It seems that the fates are on our side, because they allowed my brother to find his other half, his soulmate. She is the only person capable of breaking the curse that trapped his heart in a small obsidian vessel. When she did so, she gave him great power that will permit him to fulfill his destiny. Unfortunately, it comes at great risk." The seer gestured to the dark creature on the river bank who was now nuzzling Molly's temple. "Until he learns to control the monster inside, the only person he will truly recognize as nonthreatening is Molly. He will protect her at all costs."

"What was that thing you did just now with that stone? It made him leave you alone."

"Ah, yes, the demon charm. It temporarily renders Sherlock outwardly docile. It's not powerful enough to make him return to human form, but it makes it much safer to be around him." Mycroft explained. Just then, they heard a groaning sound and they looked over to see that Molly was waking up. John moved to go to her, but Mycroft halted him. "If you value your life, stay put." John swallowed hard and sat back down by the fire to watch Molly anxiously. Her eyes eased open and she gasped when she saw the creature crouching over her. After a moment, she seemed to realize who it was.

"Sh-Sherlock?" she whimpered. There was an intense ache in her shoulder that was worse than anything she had ever felt before in her life and she was cold. Sherlock was like a hearth to her. He gently wrapped his arms and wings around her body to pull her closer. "W-What happened to you?" She reached up to touch his face and his body began to change. He groaned in pain as his wings receded back into his shoulders and his skin faded to its regular pale color. His hands, feet, and ears resumed their normal shape as did his incisors and the pupils of his eyes. The sounds of his agony quickly faded once he was fully back to human form and then he promptly passed out. John rushed over to make sure that Sherlock was alright.

"He will be fine, John. Transforming is rather taxing for him and he will be asleep for quite awhile in order to recover. You should be far more concerned for Molly." Mycroft called as he approached.

"J-John? What's going on?" Molly asked meekly and the blond man gingerly picked her up to bring her over by the fire. Her breathing was irregular and she looked completely out of sorts, which told John that she was suffering from confusion, shock, and fear all at once.

"Shh, it's alright. You were injured and we had to flee the city, but you'll be okay. You just need to rest." He soothed as he set her down. "Anthea, please keep an eye on her." He addressed Mycroft's apprentice who smiled and nodded in response. That taken care of, he turned his attention back to Sherlock. It was odd to see Mycroft, who was normally cold and businesslike, crouching down beside his brother to cover him in a blanket and brush his dark curls out of his face. "You really care about him, don't you." John commented.

"He has been my responsibility since we were boys." The older man answered simply. It was his way of saying that he cared more deeply than he could express and John saw it in his eyes. It was the most emotional Mycroft had ever been in his presence and he would likely never get to see it again.

There was nothing further said between them that night. They brought Sherlock's limp form over to the fire with Molly and took turns standing guard.

* * *

When he awoke, Sherlock didn't say anything for a long time. John had many questions for him, but he didn't answer them. Instead, he silently accepted a fresh set of clothes from his brother (the clothes he had been wearing the previous day had been ripped to shreds by his transformation) and went down to the river. Molly woke up not much later and was immediately handed a slice of bread and a cup of tea by Anthea. She gratefully accepted these and asked where Sherlock was. Mycroft informed her that his brother was by the river and that she should not disturb him. She followed this instruction until the seer had finished explaining to her why they were camping in the forest. Mycroft's words about the Raven's Will made her worry and feel guilty. She wanted to make sure that Sherlock was alright, so she disobeyed Mycroft and snuck off through the trees and down to the river bank.

There, she found Sherlock sitting on a boulder, gazing out across the water and looking deep in thought. He wore the new clothes he'd been given and his unruly black curls were damp. He must have bathed himself in the river. As Molly approached, he made no indication that he was aware of her presence.

"Are you alright?" she asked, only to be ignored. "Listen, I'm sorry." This did manage to elicit a reaction, but Sherlock did not look at her.

"Sorry? For what, Molly? You are not the person who murdered my mother. You are not a demon or a sorceress or my brother. You have done nothing to be sorry for." The wizard shot back, his mouth the only part of him that moved. "It is not your job to apologize for the actions of others. Do not degrade yourself." Molly opened her mouth to apologize for this, but shut it again when she realized how silly that would be. Instead, she swallowed her nerves and put a comforting hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He immediately shrugged her off. "Get away from me." He ordered and the healer staggered back in shock at being addressed this way. She was deeply hurt and could feel tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. "I want you and the others to leave for Holmes Castle. You will all be safe there." Now Molly understood and she gasped.

"What about you? Won't you come with us?" Sherlock did not answer this and a tear fell down Molly's cheek. "You can't fight Moriarty alone. Please let me help you. Isn't that what you brought me along for? To be your assistant?"

"No. When you are with me, you are in danger."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"I am not the danger, Molly. In fact, quite the opposite. I am incapable of doing you physical harm. No, the threat is Moriarty and all those who believe his lies. They will want to hurt you and that will make me lose reason and become a monster. As a thoughtless beast, I cannot hope to win this fight. You must stay where it is safe." Sherlock responded, causing several conflicting emotions to be stirred in Molly's heart. Eventually, anger won out.

"You selfish coward!" she hissed at Sherlock. This succeeded in finally making him look at her. "I wouldn't be able to bear being locked away, sitting there, safe and doing nothing while you try to fight alone. You're so scared of your own feelings that you won't even try to control them. You just lock them away."

"Control  _is_  locking them away!" Sherlock growled back, standing up.

"No, it's not! Control is learning to live in harmony with them. What you're doing is unhealthy and dangerous." The healer snapped, taking an unusual step forward. Sherlock had never seen his assistant this outspoken before. He hopped down from the boulder he'd been perched on and drew himself up to his full height so as to make it clear how much he towered over Molly. She stood her ground. "You're not a monster. You're just a man who lacks understanding of his own emotions. I believe that if you tried, you could control the Raven's Will."

"You would be singing a different tune if I had killed John last night. Do you know that I can't even remember what happened? I had to piece it all together from what I could see when I woke up. That's how out of it I was. You don't think I've tried to keep my head when the demon takes over? I have and it's impossible. This is why I told you not to break that curse. If you hadn't-"

"Not that long ago, you were saying that nothing is my fault!" Molly interrupted. Sherlock gave a snarl of frustration and abruptly grabbed her around the waist to hoist her up over his shoulder. She struggled and shrieked at him, but to no avail. He set her down in front of a tree and ropes of blue magic bound her to it. "Let me go!" Sherlock then did something entirely unexpected. He bent down and placed a kiss on Molly's forehead. She gasped, blushing. The wizard stepped away and she suddenly felt very drowsy. In moments, she had fallen asleep and Sherlock jumped in the river.


	9. Allegiances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took so long, but you know how it is with life and having multiple fics going at once. Things get a bit difficult. Anyway, I hope this is worth the wait. There are some Series 3 spoilers.

Mycroft watched the scene between his brother and Molly unfold in the reflective surface of the tea in his cup and went out find the healer alone and asleep by a tree. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. The seer hoped that unconsciousness wasn't going to become a thing with Molly. They needed her awake and well as much as possible. She was the key to finding Sherlock and bringing him to his senses before it was too late. Mycroft knelt down and placed his hand on Molly's forehead, releasing her from the sleep spell that his brother had put on her. She awokewith a start and glanced about in confusion.

“Where is Sherlock?” was the first thing she said and Mycroft gave her a pitying look. In his eyes, Molly's love for his brother was both heartwarming and tragic, because while no one had ever so blatantly and deeply felt for Sherlock as she did, there was little hope for her that the crown prince would ever reciprocate. The young man was just too scared of his own emotions.

“Sherlock has left us behind in favor of fighting alone. You should note that he does this out of concern for us and not because he thinks us weak or incapable of aiding him in his task. Given how gently he let you down, I'd say that he has a particular concern for you, Molly.” Mycroft explained calmly as he helped the healer to her feet.

“W-We have to find him.”

“I quite agree. Now, we'll need you in prime condition before we can proceed. Come.” He placed an arm around Molly's shoulders and led her back to camp.

“Oh no, what's happened? Where's Sherlock?” John questioned when he saw them approach, rushing up to take a still groggy Molly off of Mycroft's hands.

“My little brother has decided to go solo. Obviously we can't have that, so we must pack up our things and head north.”

“Why north?”

“Come now, John. Surely even you are aware that beyond the mountains are all the remaining lands of magic folk? Those who are not of the Old Ways occupy only a handful of settlements in the north and Moriarty has been snuffing them out, one by one, including the village from which my brother rescued Molly. If Sherlock will be anywhere, he will be much deeper into this forest.” No one saw any flaws with this logic, so they all followed the seer's direction. It didn't take them very long to have everything packed up and ready to go.

* * *

 

_Seven Months Hence_

 The farther from his friends Sherlock became, the larger grew the emptiness inside him. Separating himself from Molly was proving painful, like there was a connection between them that was being stretched as if it were an overworked muscle. He knew she could feel it too. How could she not? There _was_ a connection between them, one of ancient magic. Sherlock dared not even think the word describing this connection, not when it was so important for him to remain emotionally numb.

The wizard prince's eyes flickered about as he raced through the forest, barely disturbing the foliage around him. He made no sound and moved faster than normal humans with an almost elfin grace. The others, who he was certain would spend at least a little time searching for him, would be hard pressed to keep up with him, let alone find him. It was best for their safety. Moriarty wanted _his_ head and if they were with him, the sorcerer wouldn't hesitate in slaughtering them to get to him. If they stayed away, they would be safe. Moriarty wasn't interested in spilling any magic blood he didn't have to. As long as Sherlock remained alive and managed to kill Moriarty, Mycroft and Molly would not be targeted. If he did die, Moriarty would turn his attention to them, as they were currently next in line for the throne. The ancient rule about the passing of the crown ran through Sherlock's mind: _next of love, then next of blood_ , meaning that a soulmate's claim to the thrown took precedence over that of a blood relation's. That made Molly target #2 in Moriarty's eyes. The thought of this sent a shiver of terror down Sherlock's spine. Not only had he just admitted to himself what Molly was, he'd fully acknowledged the horrifying possibility of her death at Moriarty's hands.

The wizard shook himself. He couldn't have these distracting thoughts. He needed to focus. The current task on his mind was that of rallying support. He had to find those of the Old Ways who were still loyal to his family and convince them to be his spies. Such a network would allow him to locate Moriarty before any of this escalated to war. Right now, he was heading to a small northern village that prided itself in its beautiful pottery. He'd heard whispers of a powerful witch who resided in the area. Wrapping himself in a tattered black cloak, he came into the village, putting on the persona of a traveller just passing through. He wandered up to a stall where a corpulent, unkempt man was selling potatoes and adjusted his hood to ensure the spud merchant couldn't see his eyes.

“One sack of your goods, if you please, sir.” Sherlock requested in a voice rather deeper and gruffer than usual. The vender scratched his large belly and began filling a coarse linen bag with potatoes, counting them as he went. Once he'd arrived at the number that he apparently considered a sack's worth, he tied it closed and turned back to Sherlock.

“That'll be ten shiny ones.” At this, Sherlock reached in his pocket and paused. The potato salesman narrowed his little dark eyes when Sherlock leaned in and muttered to him.

“I will give you double if you can tell me where to find the one known as Lady Lotus.” The man perked up at this and looked around to make sure others weren't listening or watching before answering.

“Go to the Blackbird Inn and ask the barkeep for Graytail. You'll find what you seek.” Sherlock summarily gave him a handful of coins and turned to walk away, only to have the potato man grab his shoulder. “Oi! You promised twenty!” Slowly, Sherlock turned back and stepped into the other man's personal space, drawing himself up to his full height.

“I promised twenty for the location of Lady Lotus. You gave me the name of someone who might know where she is. Be glad of your fifteen,” Sherlock said, his tone even, but containing an unmistakable warning. Only when the man looked back at him with fear did he realize he'd been grasping the hilt of his sword. He swiftly stalked away, wondering what had gotten into him. What was he about to do back there? Gut that unwitting peasant over a simple disagreement? By the gods, what was wrong with him? That question sent an uncomfortable tingling sensation down his spine. He knew the answer. It stared back at him when he caught his reflection in a puddle with its cold, catlike eyes.

The demon was biding its time, waiting for him to show a moment of weakness in which it could emerge and deal out its retribution for being caged and ignored. His mother would be ashamed of him for being so out of sync with the Raven's Will. She'd been in harmony with it, but she was dead and it had been passed to him suddenly with no preparation or tutoring. Without her, he had no idea how to achieve peace with the demon. He was so very weak in that respect. It wasn't fair. This burden wasn't meant for him. It was meant for Mycroft. But nothing had happened the way it should have and now he had to press on alone and without any guidance from his dear mother or anyone.

Sherlock shook himself again. He could feel the demon feeding on his anxiety and bereavement and gaining strength. He couldn't have that. It was time to focus and find Graytail. Taking a deep breath, he entered the Blackbird Inn and sat down at the bar. It wasn't exactly the cleanest place he'd ever been, but one couldn't expect the best from a place where one was looking for a shady character. After ordering a pint of the local mead, he scanned his eyes over the other patrons. The first person who caught his attention was a hooded man in the corner who wore a dark gray cloak.

“Excuse me,” Sherlock addressed the barkeep. “That man there. Is he the one they call Graytail?” The question was greeted with a look of amused surprise.

“I don't know where you heard that name, but that's not Graytail. Graytail is a woman.”

“Where can I find her?”

“Just pause a mo' and you'll hear her,” the barkeep told Sherlock with a chuckle before going back to wiping down a grimy pewter mug. The wizard did as was suggested and registered the sound of a woman singing some sort of ballad at the opposite end of the inn. He looked over his shoulder to see a thin blonde woman was the source of the music. Intrigued, he moved closer. The sound of her voice had an odd calming effect on him, but it agitated the demon inside, like it knew something was off. Sherlock took his flute from his pocket and began playing an accompaniment. This immediately got the woman's attention, but she kept singing and smiled at the applause she and Sherlock got at the end of the story. She then slipped off as quickly as she could manage. She went out the back and Sherlock followed. As he came around the corner of the building, he felt a dagger tip press against the small of his back and he froze.

“There aren't many who can sneak up on me.” He spoke evenly, a wry smile on his lips. “Tell, what kind of person is the one they call Graytail? Interesting name. The color obviously comes from the mantle about her shoulders, but why tail? Ah, perhaps I am thinking of the wrong kind of tail. Not Graytail, _Graytale_. Gray carries a double meaning, then. One of moral ambiguity. What sort of woman is named for being neither good nor evil? The kind that can sneak up on me. An assassin. One who can be hired. I wonder what could inspire such a desperate way of life. Tell me, Graytale, what kind of money does a singer of ballads make in a small village?” he rattled off and he felt that blade press more threateningly into his back, though it did not pierce him.

“Who are and what do you want from me?” Graytale demanded, sounding more afraid than angry.

“Someone you would deeply regret attempting to kill.”

“Really? And why's that?”

“Withdraw that silly little bit of sharp metal and step away from me and you won't have to find out.” Something in Sherlock's manner made the woman immediately do as he suggested. He turned to face her, his posture considerably more friendly than she could ever have expected. “You're one of us, aren't you?” He reached out to grasp her hand and crimson markings appeared on her skin. As she snatched her hand back, she could see his smirk in the shadow of his hood.

“Who are you?” At the repetition of her earlier question, he slowly lowered his hood, revealing his face with the blue markings of his own magical blood exposed. Graytale spotted the symbol on his forehead and gasped, eyes widening in recognition. “That's impossible. The House of Holmes was destroyed. Burned for all to see.”

“You've been listening to the wrong stories. My name is Sherlock.” He could see in how her expression intensified that she knew exactly who he was now. “I have extended my trust by giving you my name. Now pay me in kind and give me yours.” It was a heavy risk, someone knowing your name, especially if that someone was a bard (as Sherlock suspected this woman was). Some bards were able to bend people to their wills simply by knowing names.

“Mary of Morstan.”

“It seems we have both been listening to the wrong stories, as I have been told that the Morstans were massacred.”

“I'm the only one left. And you?”

“It's just me and my overbearing elder brother.”

“Why hasn't he reclaimed the throne? Why does he let us suffer? We are being hunted like vermin.” There was a clear edge to the blonde woman's tone that hinted at a flame of rage burning beneath. Her words struck Sherlock, stirring emotions inside him that he had rarely felt before. Was it shame? Shame for how he'd tried so hard to forget who he was? He didn't let it show.

“For the very same reason that I cannot be killed by a bit of sharp metal.” Mary seemed notably stunned by this, to the point where she took a step back from him.

“The Raven's Will...”

“Yes. Instead of dying with the Queen, it passed to me.” A long moment of silence followed this in which Sherlock waited for Mary to respond.

“Then I suppose my questions are for you. Where have you been? Your people need you. Most of us have lost our hope and many that have kept it are joining this new rebel group that started in the south. They hear of the promises of Moriarty and answer his call.”

“You've been considering that path, haven't you?” Sherlock tilted his head like an inquisitive animal. “All the answers you seek will be yours, but first you must make a choice.” He did not need state what choice that was, the choice of him or Moriarty. The fact that he was before her told her that he was starting a resistance of his own. He watched her carefully. What she said next would determine whether she lived to see the return of the Old Ways or died fighting for tyranny. He was shocked at the manner in which she chose to give her decision.

“What do you need of me?” Mary asked, kneeling down before him and bowing her head.

“I need your knowledge, your skill, and your loyalty,” he replied. “And don't kneel.” Mary immediately stood up, seemingly glad at not having to display subordination any longer.

“Then you have them, my liege.”

“And don't address me like that.” This succeeded in earning Sherlock a smile.

* * *

 

“You have to _feel_ the anger, Molly. Feel it burning under your skin and let it out,” Anthea advised as she demonstrated the concept she was trying to describe by thrusting out her hand and conjuring a bronze colored flame in her palm. Molly attempted to emulate Mycroft's apprentice, but she achieved only a few wishful green sparks. The darkening sky growled mockingly at her.

“Is that really the best you can do?” Mycroft himself called, approaching the two women, having just come from collecting water. He eyed Molly with particular scrutiny.

“I-”

“We don't have time for hesitation, Molly. Moriarty will not wait for his enemy to gain strength. He will strike the moment he sees fit and he will do so without mercy. You can no longer be my dear brother's docile little kitten. The fate of our people rests on you and your ability to stand on your own, so stop holding back. Do it now!” the seer snapped coldly.

“I'm trying!” Molly shrieked and columns of green flame burst forth from her hands. Her scowl of fury morphed into wide eyed delight and she let out a laugh. She was further surprised by the genuine smile that Mycroft gave her.

“I knew you had it in you, Molly. You just needed the proper little push,” he commented serenely. “Now, I'm afraid we'll have to cut the lesson short.” He turned and called to John, who was busy packing up their things. The blond came to stand beside Mycroft and they looked to the prince, listening carefully to what he said next. “Since Molly seems to be too far from Sherlock to be able to tell what direction he's in, we can no longer hope to find him, so we must channel our energies elsewhere. I suggest we head for Appledore.”

“Why?” John asked with a frown.

“There resides a seer, an old friend of mine, Charles Augustus. He is both intelligent and powerful. His support is extremely valuable, so securing it is in our best interests.” As he spoke it began to rain, steady and light at first, and then coming down in waves that drenched them all. He looked up into the angry, gray sky with a troubled expression, but said nothing more.

* * *

 

“Soo Lin?” Mary called as she led Sherlock to the little property just outside the village. They were only just inside the worn, oaken gate and the place was very still. “Soo Lin, I've brought someone who wants to see you. It's alright, I've already checked him out.” There was no sign of movement for another minute and then the door of the mossy roofed cabin to reveal a small, thin woman in a blue and white silk dress. She took one look at Sherlock and slammed the door. “Oh dear...give me a moment. I'll talk her 'round.” The blonde went to stand by the door and knock. “What's the matter?”

“He's a demon!” came Soo Lin's reply.

“Yeah, I know, but you can trust him, I swear.”

“What does he want from me?”

“I wish only for you to hear what I have to say,” Sherlock finally said. He understood this woman's hesitance. It was wise to show precaution around someone containing an ancient forest spirit. She was a clever one, not only immediately seeing him for what he was, but knowing better than to take him less than seriously. She warily allowed them inside and politely offered them tea. “Mary tells me that you and she have been helping magic folk escape authorities. You are to be commended for that. However, soon it will not be enough to save our people. Moriarty's poison promises are spreading and if he goes unchallenged, this land will know true tyranny. I intend to stop him.” Sherlock paced about Soo Lin's sitting room as he spoke. He felt restless, but he wasn't sure why.

“Who are you?” the small woman asked quietly. Sherlock stopped and regarded her for a moment, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“The Yaos once pledged their loyalty to the House of Holmes. Will the Lady Lotus stay true to that oath and stand with me?” These words were met with the sound of shattering porcelain as Soo Lin dropped her teacup. The cup slowly reformed itself, right down to the lotus flowers that had ben painted on it, clearly having been enchanted to do so. A real smile appeared on Sherlock's face now as he waited for the woman to speak.

“I would crawl beside you if it would do anything to save our people,” Soo Lin finally told him determinedly. Sherlock opened his mouth to praise her, but instead of words, a cry of pain came out. He doubled over, hands over his heart.

“Sherlock!” Mary burst out, coming to his side as quickly as possible and placing her hands firmly on his shoulders.

“Molly!” he wheezed with a moan of torment. He fell to his knees, Mary's strong grip no longer enough to keep him on his feet. “Go! Run! Both of you!”

“Mary, we have to go.” Soo Lin urged, grabbing her friend's arm and trying to yank her from Sherlock.

“No! He's in pain, we have to help him!”

“Mary, there is an extremely dangerous level of unstable magic coming off of him. The demon is coming out and there's nothing any of us can do to stop it. We have to go. Now.” With one final tug, Soo Lin succeeded in dragging Mary from the cabin. Without the blonde there, Sherlock was on all fours, screaming in agony. The feathery black wings burst from his back and caused massive damage to Soo Lin's surrounding belongings. The screams became snarls as he transformed once again into the creature of darkness they called the Raven's Will. He tore from the cabin in a shower of wood splinters and swooped down on the two women who had foolishly tried to run from a demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom, cliffhanger strikes again. I think now would be a good time to say that Starfall by Two Steps From Hell is what I think of as the demon's theme. I get a ridiculous amount of inspiration from it. Anyhoo, I hope you liked this. Thanks for reading.


	10. The Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely sorry that this took so long. There was writer's block and then there was life and then there were my other WIPs and the there was more writer's block and life. I really hope this is worth the wait.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains potentially shocking, but somewhat vaguely described violence and poisoning.

  
The iron gates of Appledore swung open with an eerie creaking as four cloaked figures hurried along the forest path leading to them. It had been raining for days and they were soaked to the bone. It was only thanks to Molly that they hadn't all fallen ill yet, though they had had little shelter and rest.

The doors of the castle were unlocked for them and inside it was warm and dry. A very thin, bespectacled man stood in the entry hall to greet them, bearing a neutral expression.

“Does the Son of Magnus welcome us to Appledore?” Mycroft asked, regarding the other man carefully.

“He does.” The faintest of smiles came upon the features of Charles Augustus, a gesture which Mycroft matched. “And what does Mycroft of Holmes require at this late hour? I have seen trouble brewing in the south. Could it be that our great princelings have at last been driven from the heart of the kingdom? All would suggest that you and your party come to Appledore seeking shelter and counsel.” Had Molly not known that this man was an old friend of Mycroft's, she would have thought the underlying tone of his words was one of mockery.

“You would be, for the most part, correct,” Mycroft answered.

“Then you are welcome here, Son of Evander.” Molly noticed how Mycroft almost flinched at the sound of his father's name, but his smile remained. The group followed Charles Augustus up the grand, winding staircase. “You shall be given rooms and food will be laid out in the dining hall for you,” he told them. Molly and Anthea were directed to the first door they came to and entered to find a lavish room with two large beds. It was exactly what they needed. The two women got themselves cleaned up in silence and went down to the dining hall where the men had already gathered. Molly took a seat opposite Mycroft and listened intently to what they were discussing.

“Witch hunters have been set upon the population. If we do nothing, we'll all burn,” Mycroft told his old friend sternly.

“The people have looked to their heir for guidance and where is he? Running off like a coward,” Charles Augustus replied and Molly tensed, riled at this man speaking ill of Sherlock, granted, she'd called him a coward herself, but her time away from him had cooled that anger and she wished that she hadn't said those things. Mycroft gave her a warning glance before she could open her mouth.

“My brother is no coward, I assure you. One day soon, he will come forth to lead our people.”

“Soon is too late, my friend. The slaughter has already begun. What will your dear brother say to those who have lost loved ones to the witch hunters in his absence?” Mycroft did not appear to have an answer for this, but Molly did.

“Sherlock carries a heavy burden. Surely his subjects must-” she began boldly, but Charles Augustus cut her off.

“Know your place, servant girl,” he told her, his tone pleasant in the most threatening way possible. Mycroft looked to her as if he were silently begging her to let it go, but she wasn't going to just sit back and allow Charles Augustus to insult the man she loved.

“My name is Molly Healer and I am soulmate to the Crown Prince Sherlock Holmes. I have every right to speak on his behalf,” she responded sharply. Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath while the other seer grinned.

“Well now. Isn't this a delightful surprise. I've been looking for you for a long time, Molly, but you've been shielded from my gaze.” Charles Augustus's eyes wandered over to Mycroft for a moment, but the prince remained stony faced.

“Looking for  _ me _ ? I don't understand.”

“Did the Great Owl never tell you? Mycroft, is that any way to treat your would be queen?” Charles Augustus gave Mycroft a playful raise of the eyebrows and Molly simply frowned. Mycroft had been keeping something from her? She looked to the man, expecting some sort of answer in his face, but there was none. He was still stoic as ever. “Everyone wants a piece of you, Molly. You have no idea the power that can be had with someone like you at hand. You're the last of a line of healers, a powerful one, as well as the soulmate and favourite plaything of the heir to the throne of our people, all wrapped up in one pretty little package. Yum yum.” Molly felt a little queazy at the way the seer popped his lips to punctuate his statement. “It's fortunate that you are the only one who hasn't taken a drink from your goblet.” As if on cue, first John then Mycroft then Anthea began to choke. Molly's eyes widened in horror and she shot up from her seat, trying desperately to use an extraction spell to get the poison out of them, but to no avail.

“Stop this! Stop it now!” Molly pleaded to Charles Augustus, who only giggled. He seemed to be taking particular pleasure in watching Mycroft writhe. With a shriek of grief and rage, Molly threw a jet of emerald flame at the traitor. He deflected it with a summoned scepter and she sent another, again and again, wanting him to suffer for how her friends were dying around her, but she could not hit him. He came closer and closer to her until his deflection spells could knock her off her feet. She lay stunned on the stone floor with him towering over her and continuing to grin devilishly.

“Moriarty will be very pleased to see you.”

* * *

_12 Hours Ago_

 

Mary and Soo Lin sat wide eyed on the ground as the Raven's Will bore down on them. He drew back to strike them and Soo Lin snatched up a nearby stone, holding it up so that when his claw came down, it encountered a shield of pearly white energy. He tried several times to hit the two woman in different ways, but the barrier was too strong.

“I think I can charm him, but you'll have to lower the shield for a moment,” Mary hurriedly told her friend. Soo Lin nodded and at the count of three, she lower the stone. The pair rolled away, out of the path of the demon's claws. Getting hastily back to her feet, Mary began her spell. “Sherlock!” she called with a magical layer to her voice and the demon froze. “ _ Remember the name, remember she who brings you pain, abandon this folly, remember the one you call Molly. _ ”

The song had the desired effect. Sherlock turned away from Mary and Soo Lin and spread his massive, corvine wings before he launched into the air. As he ascended, a viscous cry that lay somewhere between the roar of a dragon and the squawk of a raven ripped from his throat, resonating through the area. The two women watched as he soared away at an alarming velocity and the sky began to blacken with the gathering of not just ravens, but crows and magpies as well. The noise was almost overwhelming.

“By the gods...” Soo Lin gasped. Neither of them had seen such power before in all their lives. Every black bird who had heard the demon's call was answering. Whatever was happening, it was extremely serious.

“Molly can't possibly be anything less than his soulmate,” Mary remarked.

“We mustn't leave him to his fate. Come. I'll fetch my horse.” Soo Lin grabbed her friend by the arm and pulled her back towards the house.

* * *

_Now_

 

“Sorcerer,” Molly murmured hatefully as she gazed up at Charles Augustus. The bearded man laughed and traced the diamond tip of his scepter along her cheek.

“Dear girl, is that meant to insult me?” He made a playful tsking sound and thwacked her cheek hard with his scepter. “The sorcerer's way is a better way. One day, you will see that. Your friends, regrettably, will be dead in a little while and will not get the chance.” Molly was too incapacitated to looked around at the others, but felt the pain desperation of wanting to do something, anything, to save them. Taking a deep breath, she let herself relax and energy began to flow into her body, building up and working to counter Charles Augustus's spell. She wished she knew if she had enough time to stop her friends from dying, but right now all she could do was hope.

Then she heard it, a faint chattering noise in the distance. It grew louder and louder until it attracted the seer's attention as well. It was...birds? With little more warning than that, part of the ceiling violently caved in. The room seemed to tremble and thrum with magic and following the haze of dust and rubble came something large and black, cloaked in a swarm of ravens and laced with ethereal blue flames. There was no time for Charles Augustus to react before the thing was upon him, tearing his body asunder as if he were made of nothing but paper. When the creature's assault was done, there was barely anything more than a bloodstain left for the ravens to pick at.

The birds dispersed and the ghostly flames which had been licking along the creature's inky black skin died, making it clear to Molly that this was the Raven's Will. He opened his mouth wide and the poison was sucked from Mycroft, Anthea, and John. He swallowed the liquid and there was a burst of light which could only be his body destroying the substance. In her horror and captivation, it took Molly a moment to realize that the sorcerer's spell had been lifted and she could now move her body. She shakily sat up, drawing the demon's gaze, and the rage in him seemed to melt away, replaced by softness and anxiety. Like a cautious beast, he approached her, his feline eyes scanning her for injuries. She did not move as he brushed his lips along the nasty bruise forming on her cheek where Charles Augustus had struck her. He let out a small whimper as he nuzzled her temple and wrapped his muscular arms around her, pulling her firmly against him. Trembling, Molly slid her arms around his neck and tried to hold back tears.

“Oh Sherlock,” she whispered and like a word of power, it triggered his body into changing. He groaned in agony as he shifted and she determinedly kept her hold on him, anchoring him. His grip on her became almost painful when his wings retracted, but it passed and soon he was just a quaking, almost naked man in her arms, hanging onto her with everything he had left.

“Y-You're safe...”

“Yes. It's alright, Sherlock. I'm here.” At that, he promptly passed out and she could no longer hold off her tears. They came spilling down her face in thick, shining streams and she entwined her fingers in his dark curls, pressing his face to her chest and kissing the top of his head. Everything was falling to pieces and she had little to no idea what she was supposed to do, so she did one of the most useful things she knew how to do: heal.

Once she had gently laid Prince Sherlock aside and covering him with the remnants of the tablecloth, she moved to the others. The poison was gone from their bodies, but there was damaged left behind that needed to be treated lest they suffer permanently or even die. Many of the lingering birds watched her ministrations, tilting their heads in curiosity. Others looked about with alertness, as if they were watching for danger and protecting the humans. It gave Molly the boost of confidence and sense of security that she desperately needed right then.

* * *

After what seemed like an age of riding, Mary and Soo Lin arrived at a rather imposing castle with a great hole in it and littered with perching corvine birds. They had little doubt that the Raven's Will had been here. He might not have even left yet. For that reason, the two women dismounted and approached with caution. None of the birds made a fuss, which was a good sign.

“Hello?” Mary called out and a raven cawed loudly in reply. A moment later, a brunette woman, who looked like she had seen battle, came out from the grand front doors. Her brown eyes were tired, but they were still full of fire, like she was protecting something as a dragon guards its hoard.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded, holding out her hand, ready to blast them if she had to.

“I am Soo Lin of Yao and this is Mary of Morstan. Our allegiances lie with the House of Holmes.” This woman now had their names as a display of trust, whether she accepted it or not would determine their fate, for she held all of the power in this situation. They got the feeling that if she decided against them, all of those ravens that were watching them would come swarming down to attack them.

“I am Molly Healer and I would be glad of your help,” she answered and they all relaxed. This was Molly. The Molly. She could be trusted as they trusted the crown prince himself.

“Tell us what you need,” Mary offered as they came closer. Molly took a few steps forward and staggered, necessitating that Soo Lin catch her.

“Are you alright?” the enchantress asked.

“I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm just exhausted.” Using Soo Lin's shoulder as a support, Molly showed them into the castle and the dining hall that was in ruins. Four people lay on the dusty floor, one wrapped in tattered maroon cloth. “I have to monitor them,” Molly explained, kneeling down beside who they now recognized as Sherlock. The demon had retreated inside of him and he thankfully lay there as a man. “Their bodies have all undergone major stress and I need to ensure that they only continue to improve.”

“What happened to them?” Mary inquired, frowning as she looked around, trying to piece together a scenario in her mind.

“We were betrayed and my friends poisoned.” Molly's voice was suddenly very serious and a bit emotional. “Sherlock came and obliterated the betrayer.” They could see that talking about it was upsetting her, so they asked no further questions.

“It's alright, Molly. We'll watch now. You rest,” Mary told the healer gently and took only a few minutes for Molly to fall asleep, curled up beside her soulmate.

* * *

When Molly next awoke, she was lying in a soft bed- the bed she had been given upon arriving at Charles Augustus's castle. She rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times to clear her vision before she spotted a familiar pair of eyes gazing at her from the corner of the room.

“Ah, good, you're awake.” There was a forced cheerfulness in Sherlock's voice that tipped off Molly that there was something amiss. It appeared that he had traded in the tablecloth for some proper clothes, which was something of a relief, but though he seemed to be back to good physical health, Molly could see that his mind was another matter.

“You want to talk to me about something,” she observed.

“Yes,” he replied awkwardly, slowly making his way over to her bed. “Molly, I mindlessly slaughtered a man because I sensed that you were in grave danger,” he began, clearly forcing himself to maintain eye contact with her. A feeling of dread crept into the healer's heart. Was he going to tell her that he had to leave again? “After much thought, I have come to understand that it would have gone very differently if I had been with you from the start.”

“You're...you're staying, then?”

“It's not...just that.” Sherlock came to sit beside her on the bed, his expression more open and vulnerable than she had ever seen it in his human form. “You were right.”

“A-About what?” Dear gods, he was so close to her now that she could feel his breath ghosting against her skin. It was strangely intoxicating. He gave no verbal answer to her question. Instead, he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips firmly against hers. She felt oddly unsurprised, as if it were only natural that he should do this. The markings on their skin became visible, signifying this kiss as a powerful moment- the coming together of soulmates. He cradled her face in his hands and pure joy filled her heart. Everything about this was so, so right. She could feel it in her very bones.

“Do you understand?” he whispered upon pulling away, the fingers of his left hand entwining with her own just as they had so many times in the past, though this occasion was set apart by the gentleness and care of his touch. It was almost an expression of shyness and uncertainty.

“Yes,” she answered, encapsulating in that one word the answer too a great many unspoken questions about this sudden alteration in their relationship.

“Then the matter is settled.” Molly could see from the way his manner changed slightly that he was not keen to let his thoughts linger on their kiss. She couldn't blame him. They could not spend much time on pleasures when the world was falling apart around them. Months ago, she would have thought that he hadn't actually enjoyed the gesture, but she was assured by the brightness in his eyes that his affection was genuine and lasting. With that to warm her heart, she could turn her attention to the machinations of war and ruin.

“Lead on, my prince.” Those words, like a spell, appeared to inspire a great confidence in Sherlock that brought strength to a grasp once shaken by the horror of a demon's deeds and the uncharted territory of Molly's love. She could feel it when he pulled her with him to his feet and walked side by side with her from the chamber.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. I will endeavor to have the next update much sooner, but I can't promise anything. I estimate another five chapters before this fic ends, so we're about two thirds of the way through here. There is definitely going to be more intense fight sequences, including some proper battle in the future. Anyway, thanks for reading.


	11. A Beast in the Mist

Their number was seven now, though three of them were still recovering from being poisoned. Their leader felt a strange peace inside himself, like the demon was content. It seemed that being completely honest with himself was the way to reach harmony with the forest spirit inside of him. With his inner world in a state of tranquility, Sherlock found a new clarity of thought that made applying himself to the task of leading his people much easier.

The small group made their way back south to Holmes Castle, where they could all be assured of a certain amount of security while they amassed resources to fight a war. Mycroft revealed to them the existence of a room which Molly had never seen when she had first been there. At the center of this large room was a circular table surrounded by seven chairs with runes carved in their backs. The one directly facing the door was particularly ornate and it was not at all hard to guess who it was for, especially given Sherlock's initial discomfort regarding the room. This was clearly the meeting place of the Order of Diogenes.

Without any prompting, they one by one took their places at the table, as if they each knew exactly where they belonged. Anthea remained at Mycroft's side, leaving the last chair unoccupied.

“The beast master's seat is empty,” Sherlock commented when he sat back to take in the sight before him.

“Then we must fill it,” Mycroft answered and his brother raised an eyebrow at him in skepticism. “There are still a few of them out there. We can find them easily enough.”

“And who among us do you propose should look for beast masters?” Sherlock did not sound at all convinced, much to Mycroft's annoyance, though this was how they usually behaved to one another.

“Obviously you must personally offer the position to a candidate, so you will go. With you, I suggest you take Molly and Anthea. Molly's presence will make you more diplomatic and Anthea has power enough now as a seer to guide you in your search.”

“Why not come yourself?”

“I'm far more useful here. There is scrying to be done and traveling with you is not conducive to accurate work, if indeed any got done at all,” Mycroft explained. He was right of course, but that did not mean that Sherlock was entirely happy about it. Still, he complied.

“Very well. What say the rest of you?” The crown prince opened the floor to the others, a sign that he was learning how to be a proper ruler.

“I will go with you,” Molly agreed, entwining her fingers with his. He looked to Anthea, who gave a silent nod.

“Who will be in charge here while you're gone?” John asked, frowning slightly.

“The chain of command falls to you, John, as my Storm Captain. Which reminds me, I need to knight you. Come with me.” Sherlock abruptly got up from his seat, beckoning to his best friend, who appeared to be more than a little surprised. The prince walked briskly from the room and the others all followed, some more confused than others. He led them to a long room with a high ceiling. Black banners bearing the Holmes crest lined the walls and at one end there sat what was unmistakably a throne.

The Throne of the Old Ways was intricately carved from a dark wood which, despite its many years of use and disuse, looked as if it had been made that very morning. Dark branches wove together to form the arms and legs of it. Adorned upon the back of the seat was a pair of enormous black feather wings not unlike Sherlock's own. The crown prince went to stand before it, turning to face his friends in the most regal manner he had ever dared to affect.

“Come forward, John,” he instructed and the blond obeyed. Sherlock prompted him to kneel down and he did so, albeit somewhat apprehensively. That was understandable given his lack of experience with the Old Ways. “You have earned the trust of this house and displayed valor in battle. You hold the respect of your commanders, peers, and subordinates. I therefore extend to you an honour which has been passed from wizard to wizard since the dawn of the last age. Do you accept it?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear your loyalty unto this house for as long as the Fire of Life burns inside you?”

“I swear.”

“Then by the power invested in me as the crown prince, I proclaim thee Captain of the Storm Guard and Defender of the Old Ways. Arise, Sir John.” The man got to his feet and Sherlock pressed his right hand over the new captain's heart. Blue arcs of lightning danced over John's body, coaxing forth beautiful golden markings on his skin. It was a dazzling sight to behold. The knight drew in a deep breath, his eyes going wide as if some overwhelming sensation had come over him.

“Lady Lotus, I have a task for you,” Sherlock addressed Soo Lin when he stepped away from John.

“Yes?”

“I'd like you to forge for John a suit of armor and a sword to mark his new status,” Sherlock instructed and Soo Lin's dark eyes lit up with the prospect of a challenge.

“Consider it done,” she told him.

“All of you are to follow his lead in my and Molly's absence and we shall be leaving quite soon, I should think. Anthea, you have an hour to pack provisions for yourself.” With that, Sherlock swept from the throne room, Molly at his side. There was no time to be wasted. His ravens had already whispered to him that Moriarty had rallied every sorcerer in the land willing to fight under his banner with promises of vengeance for every drop of magic blood spilt by the House of Lestrade and the beginning of an Age of Sorcery. Moriarty had at his command not just sorcerers, but dragons, and there was even a rumor of a necromancer. The king's forces stood little chance against that kind of power. Moriarty would attack Capital City soon and was probably on the march already. It frustrated Sherlock to think that the king was beyond his help at this point.

“We'll find our beast master, I'm sure. We are using every resource we can,” Molly soothed, slipping her hand into his. He said nothing in return and simply pushed is way into his study. They gathered supplies for their journey and met with Anthea in the stables, mounting their horses and heading for the young seer's first guess at a location of a beast master.

* * *

A week passed and everyone at Holmes Castle spent it doing nothing but making preparations, sending and receiving messages, and giving shelter to wizard folk seeking refuge from the slaughter of their people by witch hunters and other non-magic people loyal to the Council. Mary found herself feeling quite overworked in trying to keep everyone calm and focused with her music. Her people were afraid, so afraid, even the ones who kept up the appearance of serenity. She saw the untouched plates of food and heard the forced laughter as she sat in the corner of the grand dining hall and tried to think up the last few lines of a new song that would brighten the atmosphere.

If she was honest, Mary was rather anxious herself, but she was one of the ones who put on a brave face. She did it for those who could not, for those who trembled in their boots and struggled to tell their children why they couldn't go home. She sang her song for them and filled their hearts with promises and hope, even though she had no idea what would become of them. Her voice carried through the hall and she felt better for seeing shoulders relax and bouncing legs still. When her song was done, a little girl, the daughter of a wizard from the north, came up to her shyly, worrying the hem of her own sleeve.

“Is it true that the Raven Prince is going to save us?” she asked and Mary smiled.

“Few things of such importance are certain, little one, but Prince Sherlock is brave and strong and he will defend us 'til his life fire goes out.”

“Is it true that he slayed a dragon?”

“It is. Sit here with me and I'll tell you the story.” The little girl crawled onto Mary's lap, eager to hear the tale. The woman cleared her throat and began to sing.

 

_Hearken now to a frightful tale,_

_Of a dragon and of a man,_

_A wizard slewing a great beast,_

_With naught but his sword in his hand._

_Now Jeffer the Dragon was mean,_

_Full of greed and wrath and such hate,_

_That he came down upon Brunton,_

_And dealt its people a fiery fate._

_The king swore vengeance for this deed,_

_And sent forth the cleverest knight,_

_A man who walks in the shadows,_

_And did not fear this wyrm to fight._

_Prince Sherlock of Holmes was his name,_

_And with him his soulmate he took,_

_Molly Healer this lass was called,_

_And for the dragon they did look._

_They found him in a mountain cave,_

_Sleeping upon his golden hoard,_

_Their presence woke him from slumber,_

_And in his fierce anger he roared._

_Standing proud before the monster,_

_Sherlock drew his powerful blade,_

_Brave was the great Raven Prince,_

_Heeding no threat the dragon made._

_The pair clashed like the kings of old,_

_For near equal were blade and claw,_

_Their stalemate ended with Molly,_

_Throwing acid in the beast's maw._

_Sly Sherlock saw his chance to kill,_

_And thrust his sword into the heart,_

_Where the foul dragon's fire did live,_

_And dark corruption played a part._

_Thus was slain that terrible wyrm,_

_Who fell down dead at Sherlock's feet,_

_The victors he and Molly were,_

_The hoard theirs and the task complete._

 

A look of awe came upon the child's face as Mary sang and the bard's smile broadened at the sight of it. When the ballad was done, she politely waited for the little girl to respond.

“Wow...” the child gasped. “I wish I was that strong.”

“Oh, you are. You just haven't discovered it yet,” Mary encouraged and the girl beamed until her father called her and she scampered away.

“You're very gifted,” a familiar voice spoke up and Mary looked over to see Sir John standing nearby. “You give hope to those who have lost theirs.” The bard blushed at this.

“You make it sound as if I manufacture the feeling for them, when in truth, I merely nurse what little they have.”

“It's still impressive. Here you've sat tirelessly, seeing to the wellbeing of others, without a thought for yourself.”

“I still say you give me too much credit, sir,” Mary insisted, smiling at the handsome knight.

“Call me John. Please.” She could see then that this man was rather taken with her and her smile broadened into a grin.

“Very well, John. You may call me Mary.” She offered him her hand to shake, not expecting what happened when he took it. Their skin markings appeared, his golden and hers scarlet, meeting perfectly at each of their points of contact. “Oh,” the bard gasped.

“It seems we have a lot to talk about.”

“Indeed.”

* * *

Fortune did not appear to be in their favour. A week and a half had passed and yet they had found no tangible sign of a living beast master. They had come upon the grave of one, but there was no record of his descendants. Molly saw how frustrated it made Sherlock with each passing day. She did her best to soothe him, but she knew he felt a pressure that would never fully go away. In accepting his position as heir to the throne, he had accepted all the responsibilities that entailed. The fate of their people was on his princely shoulders and the role of leader was not one that came to him naturally. She never felt such profound respect for him as when he sought her council and trusted it. That more than anything showed her how far he had come and how ready he was wear the mantle of leadership. She believed that a leader who was always completely confident in their own judgement and did not feel the need to listen to the thoughts of others was no friend to their people.

“Our time is running out. You're assurances that we will find what we're looking for are becoming meaningless, Molly. What will we do if this is all for naught? Have you thought of that?” Sherlock snapped at her one night as he paced in front of the campfire. She maintained her calm as she looked back at him and replied.

“If that happens, then we'll go home and do our very best in the face of this war, to our deaths if we must.” The light of determination was in her eyes and Sherlock must have seen it, because it affected him.

“You're right,” he said simply, much of his restlessness and irritation fading. He sat himself down beside Molly with a resigned sigh. “You are far better suited for this than I am, Molly.”

“Perhaps that's why I'm your soulmate,” the healer teased, leaning her head on his shoulder, and he let out a small laugh, putting an arm around her.

“Perhaps.”

“My lord,” Anthea called and the pair looked over to see the young seer with a pigeon perched on her shoulder.

“What news?”

“There is a hollow in a moor south of here. I'm told the animals there behave unusually,” Anthea reported and Sherlock's face lit up.

“Then we shall go there at first light.” Having a direction at long last brought new life to Sherlock and seeing that delighted Molly.

* * *

As the sun rose, Sherlock, Molly, and Anthea gathered up their things and headed south to open land and rolling hills. Sherlock wasn't fond of such places. There was little to see and there were no trees to provide perch for birds or shelter to any manner of creature, human or otherwise. The wind was not gentle and it often battered them mercilessly, but he endured it knowing that there might be a beast master at the end of the journey. Molly's constant presence was also helpful. Her tranquil, confident nature gave him strength, for which he was grateful. He could admit to himself now that he loved her and he didn't know where he'd be without her. Admitting it to her and the rest of the world was a different matter. He had taken the first steps toward the former and that had led them to an understanding, one that allowed him to show Molly his affection in unspoken ways. His favourite thing was how she would come into his tent and crawl under his blanket at night to curl up with him and fall asleep with her hand in his. It made the days less dreary and allowed him to sleep better than he otherwise would.

Anthea was more than proving her skill in leading them to the hollow she had spoken of. She organized her pigeons well and used them to scry when they stopped for the night. Sherlock made a note to himself to tell his brother that the young woman was perfectly ready to leave her apprenticeship. Mycroft wouldn't release her without a bit of prodding, he suspected. Anthea never spoke of it, but it was clear that there was something between her and her master, some sort of affection that went beyond professional respect. Sherlock somewhat envied their ability to function whilst denying their feelings until he felt Molly's touch and he was reminded of what advantage there was in accepting these emotions, especially when it came to the creature inside him.

The demon stirred when they approached the hollow and their horses suddenly stopped and would not move another inch. There was a definite magic about the place. It was in the very fog that swirled around them.

“We'll have to go on foot from here. Our horses are in the power of whomever resides on this land,” Sherlock announced, climbing down from his steed. The women followed suit and they cautiously proceeded. The fog grew thicker as they climbed down into the hollow and Sherlock reached out to grasp Molly's hand in his own while Anthea rested her hand firmly on the healer's shoulder. It would not do for them to lose each other.

A distant, deep growl sounded from every direction. It almost seemed to be within their very minds. Each of them tensed, but especially Sherlock, who was feeling more and more out of sorts from the sensory deprivation enforced by the dense fog. The growl resonated again, much closer this time, and Molly drew in a sharp breath.

“What is that? Where is it coming from?” she inquired anxiously. The Raven's Will squirmed inside Sherlock, not with a desire to be free, but with something he could only describe as excitement. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. The growl came again and it felt as if it were right between his ears. Sporadic spasms shot through his body and he gritted his teeth, his eyes becoming catlike and his canines elongating briefly. “Sherlock! Are you alright?” Molly gasped.

“There's another demon here,” he responded grimly. Before anything more could be said, the three of them were knocked to ground and suddenly there was someone on top of Sherlock, attacking him. He saw fierce, red orange eyes, sharp teeth, and skin marked with red orange light. He knew he would die if he remained prone like this and so for the very first time, he willed his demon to come forth.

Transforming did not hurt as much as he expected it to this time as he grabbed the shoulders of his attacker and pushed back. The strength came to him immediately and soon he was on equal footing with his adversary. He could see better through the mist and there was indeed a man possessed by a forest spirit before him, the Wolf's Wrath, according to the little voice whispering in his ear, which also told him that this creature was an ally and should not be harmed. Unfortunately, the rage of this demon was making things difficult. He considered knocking him out, but he didn't have to go through with it. Molly's hand reached out from the mist to touch the Wolf's Wrath and pet his hair in a soothing gesture. Instantly, the demon calmed and stopped struggling with Sherlock.

The haze slowly cleared, revealing Sherlock and another young man standing there, breathing heavily, locked in a wrestling grappling with each other. The prince stepped back when the stranger let go of him and watched in astonishment as Molly's tranquilizing touch caused the man's demonic features to recede. What was left was a shaking, terrified young wizard. Molly pulled him into a comforting embrace, wisps of green light flowing around her hand as she rubbed the young man's back and whispered to him. Sherlock was suddenly filled with admiration and affection for her. She was truly amazing at her craft, to be able to calm a demon with her mere touch.

“What's your name?” Sherlock asked quietly after reigning in his own demon. The young man looked up at him from over Molly's shoulder nervously.

“H-Henry. M-My name's Henry.”


End file.
